


The Protection Detail

by irishgirl321



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Assassins, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Romance, Sherlock AU, SherlockXReader, Violence, bodyguards, irishgirl321
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishgirl321/pseuds/irishgirl321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Babysitting the world's most annoying consulting detective wasn't exactly what you had in mind when you became a government agent.</p><p>Falling in love with him was something you'd expected even less.</p><p> </p><p>*The story starts in between 'A Scandal in Belgravia' and 'The Hounds of Baskerville'*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So incase you didn't read the bottom part of the summary, this story takes off in between the first episode of season two (A Scandal in Belgravia) and the second episode of season two (The Hounds of Baskerville).
> 
> I originally had this as a slight Marvel AU due to wanting the reader to work for SHIELD, but then I felt that was a little too impractical, so I changed it to MI6. It doesn't really matter anyway because the Avengers or anyone from Marvel doesn't come into it at all, and weren't planned to in the original version.
> 
> I hope you enjoy anyhow :) I'll update asap, but the story's gonna take a few chapters to properly get going :)
> 
> *FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED*

"I must admit, I'm surprised MI6 offered your services, Agent ______, and I'm even more surprised you elected to come. This task seems a bit... Mundane for someone of your field" Mycroft Holmes said smoothly as the driver pulled to a stop.

"My director has an interest in your brother, sir. Someone like him could prove very valuable in the future. They want him protected in case the day comes where they need him. I agreed to take the job because I was curious to see if he was as good as everyone claims" You replied as you opened the car door, "Also, Jim Moriarty's fascination with him is something we have noticed"

"Ah" Mycroft nodded, "So you are not just here to protect Sherlock. You plan to wait for Moriarty to come for him. And then you'll take him out"

You nodded, and stepped out onto the street. Automatically, your eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail, looking for potential threats. Satisfied there were none, your hand relaxed from the holster on your utility belt. You looked over your shoulder to see Mycroft staring at you.

"You really do take everything in" He turned.

"Part of the job" You shrugged, and gestured for him to walk in ahead of you.

Mycroft entered without announcing himself, pausing for a second to straighten the knocker at the front door.

You looked around as you followed him. The place was a little bit shabby, but it had an old fashioned charm to it. It felt LIVED IN. This place was a home. You could hear the sound of a violin up the small stairs. Mycroft led you to the door of the room up the stairs, the room the music was coming from.

He really wasn't in good shape, you noted as you watched Mycroft puff and pant and he dragged the lighter of the three suitcases up the steps after him. You yourself carried the other two in each hand, and hadn't broken a sweat. One of the benefits of MI6's extensive training regime was peak physical fitness.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft yelled, knocking on the door.

The violin stopped for a second, and then all you heard in response was it shrieking as it increased in volume.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called again, getting visibly more angry by the second.

You watched in hidden amusement, leaning back against the stairwell.

"Sir, if you want I could-" You began to offer to pick the lock but he cut you off. 

"That's quite all right, Agent, but I have this under control"

'Sure you do,' you thought sarcastically, and bit your lip to keep yourself from laughing as Mycroft began to yell about his high position of authority and how he wouldn't stand for this insolence.

"Oh for God's sake Sherlock! Not this again! He just gets even more overbearing when you antagonize him!" Someone shouted from within the flat, and then there was the sound of the lock being drawn back.

The violin began to screech even louder.

You looked at the man who'd opened the door. You recognized him from the mission briefing to be Doctor John Watson. Sherlock Holmes' flatmate and best friend. He was a small man, blonde, and rather cute. 

You immediately noticed the look of exasperation in his eyes as he stood back to allow Mycroft to march into the room. You followed, shooting Watson a restrained, polite smile as you did. He looked at you warily and did not return it.

"Oh, brother, I didn't hear you out there" Another voice said sarcastically, and you saw Sherlock Holmes sitting on a sofa, violin in hand.

"And you brought a girl. Mother will be so pleased" Sherlock continued in his mocking tone.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and began to speak when Sherlock cut him off again.

"What type of espionage background do you have?" The famous detective looked at you with mild interest.

"Excuse me?" You frowned.

He sighed.

"What kind of espionage background do you have?" He repeated.

"How did you know?" You stepped forward, intrigued, "Did you tell him about me?" You looked at Mycroft.

"No" Mycroft answered, "But he is a Holmes, and we are very observant people"

Sherlock snorted in exasperation, drawing your gaze back to him. You moved closer again and he rose to meet you and began to walk forward, talking as he moved:

"Your eyes. They're quick. Intelligent. A lot more intelligent than my brother's, I'll give you that. When you walked into the room you immediately surveyed the area of the apartment. In exactly three seconds you had sussed all the possible entry and exit points, places to hide, and that there was no one but me and John in the room. You also noticed John's gun sitting under the stack of paper on his desk. It was impressive. And something as impressive as that requires natural skill, but also constant practise, meaning that you've been in many situations where you have only a few seconds to work out the complete layout of a room in case of potential danger to your person, while not making it obvious what you are actually doing. Therefore you work in an area where you need to be observant, able to adjust to different environments in the blink of an eye, and make a quick getaway. So I'll ask again: What type of espionage background do you have?"

"Agent ______ works for a top secret agency in the British secret service" Mycroft butted in.

"And what exactly do you do for this agency, little spy?" Sherlock was standing infront of you, looking down at you. 

Little spy? Was he... Patronizing you? The condescending arch of his brow proved that he was.

Your temper flared.

The three men watched your eyes become colder and when you spoke your voice had an edge of steel to it.

"I eradicate problems, Mr Holmes. And you patronizing me is rather problematic to me"

The consulting detective's eyes hardened:  
"Is that a threat, Agent?"

You became aware from the corner of her eye of John Watson moving slowly and silently towards the desk.

Without taking your eyes from Sherlock's, you spoke, "Doctor Watson, if you go to take one more step towards your gun I can promise you that you that your foot won't even make the ground and there is nothing your friend here can do to stop it"

"Now everybody just calm do-" Mycroft broke off as the door to the flat was kicked in and slammed into the ground with force as a group of men burst into the room.

You threw yourself on Sherlock, tackling him to the floor behind the sofa as a cloud of bullets ripped through the air around them. You rolled off him onto your back and sprung upright like a gymnast. As your body righted itself you reached with one hand into your opposite sleeve and drew out a knife that had been strapped to the underside of your arm, sending it flying at the trio.

The knife spun through the air, and then impaled itself in the throat of the first man who'd entered. He immediately went down, choking on his own blood.

"STAY DOWN!" You roared at the others as John tried to go for his gun again and narrowly avoided getting shot.

The other two intruders turned their attention to you, and you dropped low to avoid their shots. As you dropped down into a crouch you spun, hooking your foot on the desk chair and spinning. The chair skidded across the room and into the men, knocking them staggering back.

You sprinted forward, ripping two handguns free from your belt. The man furthest away from you rose first, his finger squeezing the trigger.

BANG. You shot first.

He went down, a bullet-hole in the centre of his forehead. 

You went to turn her attention to the final man, but before you could fire a shot the desk chair smashed into you and you went down. Hard. Your guns flew from your grasp and skidded out of reach. The man stood above you, raising the chair to bring it down on your skull. You kicked his legs out from under him, and he collapsed onto the floor as well. You cried out in pain as the chair fell on your arm, trapping it.

Within a second; the man was pinning you down by the throat, his fingers tight, squeezing the air out of your lungs. You struggled against him, the both of you rolling over and over.

"TAKE THE SHOT!" You heard Mycroft screaming.

"I can't! I might hit her!" John yelled in response.

You got your knee under his body and jerked it up, slamming it into your assailant's groin. He grunted, and his grip slackened. You rolled slightly, grabbed a heavy golden candlestick lying on the ground nearby, and slammed it into the side of his head as hard as you could. 

Dazed, he fell off you, knocking the desk chair up your arm. You got up gingerly and looked at him with disdain as police sirens filled the air.

He looked up at you dizzily, and opened his mouth to speak.

Not in the mood, your foot shot out and connected with his head. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Panting lightly, you turned around to look at the others.

John and Mycroft were watching you with awe, while Sherlock sat on the ground, holding his bleeding shoulder.

"Well, Agent ______. I must admit, that was rather impressive. I don't say that lightly. I will concede to the fact that we may just need you in the future. I do hope you're here to stay" He said with a smirk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> {Great. It was only Day 4 and already you'd managed to lose your charge. Your charge who was a fully grown man. 
> 
> And you'd lost him in a freaking supermarket.}

"Sherlock? SHERLOCK!?" You shouted as you hurried down the brightly lit aisle.

Great. It was only Day 4 and already you'd managed to lose your charge. Your charge who was a fully grown man. 

And you'd lost him in a freaking supermarket.

The Director would be so proud. NOT.

You could hear John also yelling at the other side if the store. You had decided to split up in order to cover more ground.

Seriously though, where the hell was he!? 

One second he was beside you, moaning about them not having the cereal he liked still in stock, and next second he was gone. Disappeared into thin air. Vanished. He was obviously a teleporter as well as a huge pain in your ass.

You almost flew straight past the tiny aisle with cheap plastic kid's toys, but a mop of curly dark hair caught your eye. You paced backwards a few metres until you could see again.

Sherlock was sitting infront of a group of small children. They had formed a semi-circle around him. His mouth was moving earnestly and his hands gestured around wildly. He looked excited, and you couldn't see all of their faces, but the children you could see seemed to be listening hard to every word he uttered. 

You softened slightly when you realized he was telling them a story. You were too far away to make out the exact words he was saying, but you were curious. You leaned against the shelves and crossed your arms, using his distraction run your gaze properly over his features. 

It was something that you could never do usually, when he was looking. He would have made some rude remark that set you on edge, and you'd have to struggle to rein in your temper. Looking at him now, you thought that he wouldn't have been considered traditionally handsome, but you found his features attractive in their own unique way.

Especially his eyes. Even from a distance you could see they were pale blue, almost like ice. 

Watching him with these kids, he seemed so less... Rigid. More at ease.

A soft smile curved his lips upwards, and you found yourself strangely drawn to it. He so seldom smiled around you. You moved closer, and suddenly you could hear everything he was saying.

"And the body was found the next day in the river. All blue and bloated like a giant fish. A giant, murdered fish, and-"

"SHERLOCK!" You roared, cutting him off as you ran down to him.

"What?" He said as you looked in horror at the children.

Of course you'd only seen the ones who didn't look terrified from where you were standing. You looked guiltily at the rest of the white-faced children. One was crying silently. His little body was shaking with the force of his sobs and you didn't know what to do.

"What are you DOING!?" You hissed, dragging him away by the elbow.

Irritably, he shook you off; "I was EDUCATING them!"

"It looked more like traumatizing to me"

A worried looking John appeared around the corner with the trolley filled of food.

"Where the hell did you go!?" He yelled at Sherlock.

The detective just rolled his eyes; "I left for five minutes. Would the two of you stop worrying so much?"

You felt yourself getting more and more with every movement of his mouth. Why was he so irrational?

"Listen here, Holmes?" You hissed, walking forward, "Four days ago three men broke into your apartment for an unknown reason. I am in charge of your wellbeing, as unfortunate as that may be for me, and until we're sure it's not going to happen again you need to be where I can protect you at all times. If you wander off again, so help me God, I'll cable tie you to your bed. And not in a kinky way"

By the time you'd finished your speech you realized you'd backed up him firmly against the shelving, with your index finger jabbed into his chest.

"Dammit, Sherlock" John growled as you flushed and stepped back.

"Are we done here?" Sherlock folded his arms and glared stubbornly at the both of you.

A child's high-pitched wail interrupted whatever John was going to retort. It came from the aisle you had just pulled Sherlock from.

"Okay. We need to go. Quickly" You pushed Sherlock infront of you towards the check-out.

"Why?" John looked confused.

"Because that kid is probably crying because Sherlock described a murder to him and a group of other children in graphic detail" You increased your pace as you heard furious adult voices, "I know how to deal with thugs and killers, but angry soccer moms are completely out of my area of expertise"

"Leaving sounds like a good idea" John agreed, "I'll pay for the stuff. _____, go hide Sherlock outside"

"We'll be in the café across the street" You said quickly, ducking away as an angry man stepped out of the aisle.

He was leading the crying boy by the hand. Indeed, it was one of the children that Sherlock had been in the process of scarring for life.

"Come on, Edgar Allen Poe" You growled, dragging Sherlock from the store.

It was a grey, windy day in London, and as soon as you stepped out the door the clouds broke open. Rain began to pour and the wind tugged at your jacket. Cursing out loud, you pulled your jacket up slightly to cover your head. Without thinking of it, you took hold of Sherlock's hand and ran across the road, dropping it at the other side when you entered the nearest coffee shop.

Rubbing your hands to get rid of their chill, you turned to Sherlock and asked; "What do you want to drink?"

"Americano" He answered as he followed you to the counter, "And I'm guessing you'll have a latte"

"Wrong, Mr Holmes!" You cried in glee, "What's the matter, Sherlock? Can't you read me?"

* * *

"Can't you read me?" You joked, completely not realizing.

You meant nothing by it. He hadn't told you, and he hadn't told John. 

Sherlock couldn't read you. Except for the obvious that was. He'd only guessed about your job due to how you scanned the area, but most people could have seen that.

To him you were like what a well secured bank safe was to John; Impossible to crack, and impossible to see what was inside.

You turned back to the man at the counter and asked for a white chocolate mocha. Sherlock's gaze switched from the man, to you, and back again. What was the difference? Why could he read him and not you?

He ran his eyes over the man.

Early thirties. One cat. In a relationship with someone who earned a lot more money than him (judging by the fact he was wearing designer clothes while working in a shabby coffee shop). She was obviously trying to support his attempt at an art career (he had a few spots of paint just below his ear and also on the inside of his wrist where he'd forgotten to clean then up earlier). And he wasn't too into his significant other judging by the way he was so unashamed and blatant in his appreciation of ______.

Sherlock then looked at you. He would never, ever, admit it, but he found you rather pleasing to look at. Maybe even more so than Irene Adler.

When you leaned forward to take the drinks from the wannabe artist your sleeve slid back to reveal your wrist. Sherlock glanced at it and then did a double take, noticing something he hadn't seen before.

You had a tattoo on your inner left wrist, just on the pulse spot.

"What does that mean?" He reached out a finger and tapped it with long, lean fingers.

You seemed to flinch as you looked down at it, and your mouth twisted down in a grimace.

"Let's sit" You muttered.

You chose a seat by the radiator. You tried to change the topic, but Sherlock being Sherlock, was having none of it.

"What is it?" He said again.

"It doesn't matter. Just drop it" You hissed, shooting him a venomous glare and snapping your head away.

Sherlock could see your jaw working as you massaged your temple, trying desperately to calm yourself down.

* * *

"Sorry" You sighed, dropping your eyes down to the tattoo.

You traced a finger over the little black symbols that formed the ebony crescent moon on your wrist.

"So it's private" Sherlock gathered.

"I don't want to talk about it" You muttered, jerking your sleeve down over it.

"Then I won't ask again" He said smoothly, arching a brow.

You studied him over the top of the mocha as you took a sip.

"Will you show me how to throw knives?" He asked suddenly.

"No" You snorted.

"Why?" He pouted, looking like a petulant child.

"Mrs Hudson told me how you shot her wall, and I believe that one knife-wielding sociopath is all Baker Street could manage"

You were surprised when that got an actual chuckle out of him.

"Us sociopaths have to stick together" He joked, and you felt a strange thrill that he was actually being kinda friendly here.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Indeed we do" You agreed, raising your coffee cup in a toast, "You, me... And John" You amended when you noted the dripping wet doctor standing in the door, baring at least seven shopping bags.

* * * 

Sherlock watched you rise from your chair and hurry to help John with the groceries.

That girl...

If there was any luck in deducing anything about her, it would revolve around that tattoo she was so secretive about.

Seems like he would have some old fashioned sleuthing to do.

It was a good thing he was a detective.

* * *

"I don't get it. How can he not see us?" You waved a hand infront of Sherlock's face.

The detective didn't even blink, just sat there with his elbows on his knees in his armchair. His chin was resting on his clasped hands and he just stared off into the distance unblinkingly. He was completely lost in thought.

"He's in his mind palace" John called from the kitchen as he packed the food into the fridge.

You sighed, and went to help him. It seemed like Sherlock just left him to clean up all the time. It wasn't exactly fair.

"So how long does he stay there?" You enquired as you passed him some butter to stock on the shelves.

"Hours. You never really know. Sometimes he'll sit there last thing at night and when I wake up in the morning, he's still there" He told you.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep if he's sitting in the room like that!" You exclaimed.

You had to set up a camp bed in the living room of 221B in order to guard the front door, and because there was nowhere else to sleep. John had been polite and offered you his room, but you had declined. You'd had to sleep in way more uncomfortable conditions before anyhow. 

"Just go into his room and sleep there" John advised, "He'll get mad but if you lock the door he can't do anything"

"Thanks John" You smiled.

"Anything for a friend" He grinned, "... Why are you smiling?"

"You said that we were friends" You felt a warm feeling grow in the pit of your stomach.

"Well, um, yeah. I'd like to consider us friends" John said shyly, "Even after you threatened to kill me"

"I'm sorry about that" You winced, "But I DID save you a few minutes later then!"

"About that, I still can't get the bloodstain out of the carpet. Could you give me any tips? I guess you're used to that, being an assassin and all-" He cut off as you bumped your shoulder into his, and he bumped you back.

"So you know then?" You asked.

"Wasn't hard to figure out. An agent with fighting skills like yours isn't just an average agent"

Before you could say anything, his phone began to ring, and he answered it. While he talked you tuned him out and stuck your head back into the living room to check on Sherlock, who was still gazing into the distance.

"Case" John informed you as he hung up, "Lestrade called, he's the detective inspector. He needs our- Sherlock's- help"

You looked back out of the kitchen at Sherlock; "How do we get him to leave his mind warehouse"

"Palace" He corrected, "Usually I just yell at him until he notices"

"I have a better idea" You said slowly as a thought formed in your mind.

You took a jug from the counter and filled it up with ice cold water from the tap. John began to chuckle as he realized what you were thinking.

"Would you like to do the honours?" You announced in a grand voice.

"You bet" He held out his arms eagerly and you passed him the jug.

You both trooped into the living room, John standing infront of Sherlock while you positioned yourself slightly off to the side.

"Ready?" You giggled, and he nodded.

"Three" He smirked.

"Two" You grinned.

"One" You said in unison, and John threw the freezing contents of the jug all over Sherlock.

The detective immediately jerked away, toppling off his armchair. You and John erupted into loud uncontrollable laughter as he glared at you both from the floor.

"I thought you were meant to be protecting me, and not giving me pneumonia, ______"

"It was John who soaked you" You choked as he frowned and wiped back his damp curls off his forehead.

"Come on" The doctor laughed as he helped his best friend to his feet, "Lestrade called. He needs your help. It's time to introduce ______ to everyone at the station"

"Unfortunately for her" Sherlock said grumpily as he stalked from the room, "Give me five minutes to change"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> {The apartment complex was large, a total of seven stories in all. The apartment you were headed for was on the fifth floor. As you reached it, a young paramedic rushed into the hall, looking positively green. He then proceeded to throw up on John's shoes. The doctor sighed in defeat.  
> "I hate this job" He muttered, and you had to try your hardest not to laugh.}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I keep messing with this story, but I feel like it's pretty bad :/ I just went back and combined Chapters Two and Three to make one longer Chapter Two, and that made the Chapter that was previously Chapter Four become Chapter Three. Trust me when I say this is gonna get better, and next chapter have some cute Sherlock moments

"You can't go in there. It's a crime scene" The haughty looking woman tried to stop you as you went to walk in the door of the apartment block after Sherlock and John.

"Sergeant Donovan, if only you knew" Sherlock smiled as you held a badge up.

"I've never seen that kind of badge before" The woman looked at you skeptically.

"YOU wouldn't have" You scoffed.

The sergeant's eyes hardened; "And what do you do for MI6?"

"You're not authorised to ask those sort of questions" John interrupted, and you knew he liked her as much as you were beginning to.

Which was not at all.

"It's alright. Mycroft Holmes called. You can let her in" A man called as he stepped out the front door.

He was handsome for an older man, and dressed rather well. Unlike that woman, he had a pleasant aura around him, a friendly expression on his face. For some reason you found yourself liking him immediately.

"Greg Lestrade" He said, striding past Sherlock and offering one of his hands to you, the one that wasn't holding a styrofoam coffee cup.

"Agent _____ _______. MI6. Currently assigned to a protection detail on Sherlock Holmes" You answered, shaking firmly.

"A pleasure" He grinned, "And Mycroft Holmes was very clear that you are to have whatever you need; Ammunition or otherwise, it's available to you from the station. Maybe I can even arrange for you to have someone to spar with you whenever Sherlock and John are down at the station. Just to keep your skills fresh"

"Can you afford to lose the men?" You joked.

He laughed, and you saw Donovan roll her eyes behind him. God, she really was a piece of work.

"Ah, sure, maybe they'll learn a thing or two" Lestrade smiled, putting a hand on your back and guiding you over to the stairs where Sherlock and John were waiting.

The apartment complex was dark and dusty. Yellow lights flickered overhead, giving everyone's skin a sickly look to it. The stairwell had cracks in it, and the rail that Sherlock's gloved hand rested on was rusty.

"So, what's the deal with this case?" John asked as you all started up the stairs.

"You'll see" Lestrade's face suddenly became grim.

The apartment complex was large, a total of seven stories in all. The apartment you were headed for was on the fifth floor. As you reached it, a young paramedic rushed into the hall, looking positively green. He then proceeded to throw up on John's shoes. The doctor sighed in defeat.

"I hate this job" He muttered, and you had to try your hardest not to laugh.

Lestrade had already walked into the room, and now stuck his head back out to beckon you all in. You then strode into the room. At first the others were blocking your view, but then someone shifted to the side, and you saw it.

"Oh dear God" John whispered.

You started in shock.

A man was lying in the middle of the room. He had been sliced open from the chest to the groin, and his blood slicked the floor around him in a deep, wide puddle. Innards were messily piled on the ground beside him. In all your years you'd never seen anything like it.

"What I want to know is who did this, why they did it, and how I can find them so they won't happen again" Lestrade said.

Sherlock snapped a pair of white rubber gloves onto his hands and went to move forward, but you beat him to it.

It's not gonna be that simple" You informed him, then paused and edgily looked back at Sherlock.

You didn't know how he'd react to someone else checking out his crime scene, and you didn't exactly want to have to deal with another one of his hissy-fits. Especially infront of other people.

"Sorry" You averted your eyes.

"No... Go on" The consulting detective motioned for you to continue.

You just at John just to make sure that you were positive that it was okay. He gave you an encouraging grin and made a shooing motion with his hands.

You looked around to get your bearings, and then began:

"This was planned. This guy lives on the fifth floor. The killer really wouldn't bother killing someone he didn't know when there was was four floors worth of people below to possibly see him. He might of he was stupid, but he's not. Brutal, definitely, but not unintelligent. My bet is assassination"

"And why's that? Why not just a regular, planned murder by someone he knew?" Sherlock arched a brow, and you knew he was testing you.

"The killer is an assassin, albeit not a very good one. He didn't lie down a kill sheet, a plastic sheet underneath the body when he was cutting this guy open. The blood then permeated through the floor and alerted the tenants below. It's a simple rookie mistake. The reason that he's not just an average murder is the fact that he cut this guy open and searched through his body, and why he did it"

"Why did he do it?" Lestrade asked, staring at you strangely.

"In order to get at what this guy ingested" You answered, and they all looked at you like you'd grown a second head.

Well, except for Sherlock. He was smiling slightly, watching you with bright eyes.

"What?" John spoke at last.

You rolled your eyes; "What's the best way to smuggle something so it can't be found even if your entire body is patted down head to toe? By digesting it to pass out later, as gross as it sounds. Drug smugglers do it all the time. Sometimes spies are trained to be able to keep down small packets containing microchips to export them out of a certain area. My guess is that's what happens here. This guy was a spy, undercover probably by looking at this apartment, and he stole something. The people who he stole from found out soon after, and sent an assassin after him to kill him and retrieve whatever it was"

You looked at curiously Sherlock from the corner of your eye. He was nodding approvingly at you.

"But who did he steal from?" Donovan snapped at you, obviously not liking another person who could read her crime scene better than she could.

"That I don't know" You shrugged, outstretching your arms and gesturing around you, "But judging by the mess of this room you still have a chance. The assassin didn't find what he was looking for in the victim's stomach. If he did he wouldn't have thrashed the room looking for whatever it was. And judging by the room temperature in here he didn't smash the window to escape until the very last minute, which means he looked until the last possible moment that he was able to. I may be wrong, but my guess is whatever he was looking for is still in here"

"You're looking for a microchip" Sherlock added briskly, though his gaze never left you.

Lestrade immediately strolled over to the door and yelled loudly, calling for men to come in here and search the place completely.

"I don't think we're needed here much longer" Sherlock spoke loudly, "John, _____, let's go"

You went to move forward after them, but Lestrade reached out a hand to touch your elbow as you passed him.

"Looks like I have two consulting detectives now" He joked, but you were quick to amend.

"Nope. He's the detective here" You smiled, gesturing at Sherlock, "I'm the just the more-than-meets-the-eye bodyguard"

"Yes, you are" Lestrade said a little too admiringly, and gave you a wide grin.

You cocked your head in confusion, and looked at Lestrade, slightly puzzled. Was he... Flirting with you?

"_____" Sherlock's cool voice rang out, and your gaze switched to him, "I want to go home now"

"Fine" You sighed, shooting Lestrade an apologetic look.

"Goodbye Gabe" Sherlock called stiffly, turning impatiently to go.

"My name is Greg! For God's sake! It's GREG!" Lestrade snapped, throwing his hands up into the air in frustration.

"That's what I said"

"No, no you didn't!"

Sherlock paused for a second, and then continued like Lestrade hadn't even said anything; "You should be able to figure out the rest for yourself, but if not, give me another call. But not after nine. I never like hearing from hours nine at night between eight in the morning. It's the time in the day that I find you most annoying"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been chopping and changing this a lot... But I just don't feel that it's up to scratch. Finally, however, we've reached the end of that blasted intro part of the story, and after this it'll really get started!
> 
>  
> 
> Me: *Pokes Sherlock's chest* "You get kinda cute at the end of this chapter, you know?"  
> Sherlock: "Beauty is a concept based entirely on childhood impressions and-"  
> Me: "Just shut up and take a goddamn compliment"

You'd thought that after that case Sherlock was warming up to you. It sure had seemed that way, as in the taxi back he'd told you that maybe you weren't "just a blood thirsty psychopath" and that you "were good for something other than acting as a glorified watch dog." Turns out you were wrong.

This became apparent when he began to run away to cases without you.

The first time it had happened, he had hidden your only pair of shoes so when John called you and told you to get ready, you were delayed. Sherlock had conveniently stashed them in his room. It took you a while to find them, scurrying frantically from room to room. When you eventually pulled them out from under his bed, yanked them on, and tore downstairs; They were gone. Apparently Sherlock had tricked John into getting into the taxi before him while promising you'd be along in a minute. Then he slammed the door and told the driver to get going.

On and on it went after that. An endless cycle. You didn't even know why he was doing it.

Though John knew what game Sherlock was playing (and didn't like it one bit), Sherlock somehow always managed to fool him into getting into the taxi. He'd get so worked up about it afterwards, following you around and apologizing endlessly. You eventually told him that it was okay. You instructed him that if Sherlock ran, John had to go with him. At least then he'd have someone to watch over him.

No matter what you said though, no matter how you acted like it was nothing at all; It did affect you. It was exhausting, draining, and very, very stressing. You hid it well though, acted slightly annoyed but pretended that it didn't bother you so much. Except it really, really did.  
One day it all became too much. Sherlock pushed you to the limit, and you did the one thing he never expected you to: You cried.

* * *  
It happened one cold, rainy day. The sky was grey, and the apartment was chilly. BBC weather had reported that there was a storm coming on, and for once in your life you totally believed the weatherman. Sherlock had said that he wouldn't be going to talk to any clients or take any cases that day, so you had taken five minutes to take a shower to heat up.

Of course five minutes was all that Sherlock needed to escape.

You were just turning off the water and wrapping a towel around yourself when you heard the front door slam and a flurry of footsteps down the stairs. Cursing rapidly, you yanked on the clothes that you'd left on the lid of the toilet seat. With no time to grab anything else, you tore out of the flat in just grey sweatpants and a light hoodie, with a knife strapped to your calf. You reached the front door and flung it open just in time to watch Sherlock push a loudly protesting John into the cab and slam the door.  
He looked up and his eyes locked with yours.

Your head cocked to the side and your eyes narrowed in warning.

Turning away, Sherlock threw £20 at the taxi driver.

Tires squealed as the cab took off in a haze of smoke.

Letting out one more vivid curse that left the few people out on such a miserable day staring at you in shock, you took off racing after the taxi.  
The rain was bucketing down. It blurred your vision and hailstones stung your face. You pounded down the street after the cab, breathing shallowly as your lungs burned from exertion. People scattered to let you past as you barrelled through them, yelling apologies behind you. You zigzagged down the pavement, dodging buggies and trashcans and tourists as you followed your runaway charge. The London traffic was always bad, but today it was even worse. It had slowed, but only just so that you were able to barely keep up with the taxi. Rain soaked through your clothes and the wind whipped around you like icicles hitting your skin. Within minutes your teeth was chattering, and you knew if you'd stopped you would have found yourself shaking. Still, you ran.

You damned well weren't going to let him away with it this time.

 

* * * 

 

Inside the cab, John was yelling.

It wasn't any different from usual. John always yelled a lot. Sherlock was used to it.

It was annoying; The friendship that John had developed with Mycroft's little informat. Sherlock knew that that was what you were, not an assassin, or his bodyguard. He didn't even have to find out the meaning of the tattoo or ask anyone to know that. It was the only thing that made sense. Why would Mycroft have let you stay with him if it wasn't to report back on everything Sherlock was doing? And so, Sherlock was going to make your life a misery for temporarily tricking him, and making him begin to enjoy your company ever so slightly.

But John was being too loud for even Sherlock to ignore.

"For God's sake! Pull over! Pull over!" John screamed at the cabbie.

"Don't pull over" Sherlock commanded in a dry tone, throwing another twenty onto his lap.

"Yessir" The cabbie chuckled greedily, tipping his hat between his fingers.

"She's going to catch her death out there!" John fumed, trying to shake him, "It's minus degrees outside! This is wrong, Sherlock! This is just cruel!"

Sherlock ignored him and peered out the rain-streaked window. You were still following, looking completely soaked through and absolutely furious. He'd seen you fight, so he didn't really want to stop the car and let you in. It was a confined space and he couldn't get away if you got violent. Anyhow, the client's house was only a few streets away. You could last until then.

So Sherlock turned away and continued to stare at the road infront of him, ignoring the tiny twinge of guilt in the back of his mind.

 

* * *

 

The taxi eventually pulled into a driveway, and Sherlock and John got out. After paying the cabbie even more, he waved at them joyfully and took off down the street. However, John and Sherlock didn't even look at the house just then. Their focus was solely on the street the car had just left. And a few minutes later you staggered in after it. As you arrived you saw that the house was dark, the curtains drawn. There was no one home. John was rushing towards you, concern written all over his face. You were dimly aware of the black tinges to the corner of your vision, the way your legs were trembling like a leaf, and the low rasping sound you were making in the back of your throat. You semi-collapsed into him, and his arms were around you and he almost dragged you over to the low garden wall to sit you down.

"Look at me" He was commanding firmly, "_____, open your eyes and look at me"

You did as he ordered, but exhaustedly. You gripped the edge of the wall tight within your fingers and the hard material bit into your palm and helped anchor you to the world. You felt so close to passing out.

"Her lips are blue. She probably has hypothermia. And fatigue" John's voice dimly reached you, and you watched in slow motion as he took out his coat and wrapped it around you, "Come on, let's stand you up" He said kindly, and then his hands were lifting you up under your arms and he boosted you to your feet.

"Cold" You managed to stutter out in a tiny voice.

John began to whisper reassurances, and massaged your arms to try warm you up.

"Is... Is she alright?" A hesitant voice asked.

You looked up to see the speaker and your eyes once again locked with Sherlock's. All of that anger, frustration and stress bubbled over. You began to walk forward, intent on giving him a piece of your mind. You ended up less than a metre infront of him, a unsteady finger pointing in his face. You opened your mouth to tell him what you thought, how horrible he was and how you hated him.

Instead you burst into tears.

"Jesus Christ" John hissed, moving forward to hug you again.

"Let me give her my coat..." Sherlock began in a slightly shaken voice.

"No" John snapped, "Don't go near her. I'll call Lestrade and he can take you home when you're done with the other clients you want to see"

You whimpered, drawing their attention and shook your head; "You gotta stay with him. Protection" You insisted in a tiny voice you barely recognized as your own.

"I don't even have a gun" John told you gently.

You reached down slowly and lifted up the drenched leg of your sweatpants to retrieve the knife strapped there. Standing up and shivering, you passed it to him.

"Get Greg to drop me back" You whispered, before turning your back on Sherlock and slumping down against the wall of the house.

John sat down beside you, putting an arm around you and pulling you into his chest for warmth as he withdrew his phone from his pocket, and began to dial Lestrade. You heard Greg answer on the other line, and then John was speaking.

"Greg, look, I need you to do me favour and come pick _____ up. You need to get her home and warmed up, it's pretty likely that she has hypothermia. We're out in the cold here. We went to see a potential client, but they aren't home"

Greg exclaimed loudly over the other end, sounding angry.

"It was Sherlock" John growled, "He did his usual and ran away. She chased us for around twenty minutes"

Greg snapped something else.

"Yeah, today of all days" John sighed, and hugged you tighter, "Just, please, hurry"

You felt something else drop onto you, and looked up from under John's arm to see Sherlock drape his coat over you. Furiously, you wiped the tears that were still flowing off your face. You twisted your head away to stare at the ground, feeling embarrassed, upset and angry all at once. The emotions were confused, however, you couldn't focus on them.

All you could think about was how cold you were.

 

* * *

 

Lestrade had his siren on when he pulled up to you. Within a few seconds, he was out of his car and striding over to where you and John huddled against the side of the house. He completely ignored Sherlock, save for one dirty look, and then crouched infront of you.

"I have the heating on full blast, and the chair seats are heated as well. C'mere"

With the help of John, he lifted you up and helped you over to the car. You slumped into the passenger seat, and got a sudden whiff of John's shampoo as he leaned across to strap you in. You burrowed down into the seat as John touched your head gently.

"I'll be back as quick as I can, okay? I'll watch Sherlock. Greg will get you back to 221B and he and Mrs Hudson will look after you"

You tried to speak, but found you stuttered so badly that you just gave up. John closed the door, and Greg got in the drivers seat and slammed the door behind him. Giving you a concerned look that made you realize that you probably looked as terrible as you felt, he leaned over and turned up the heating even more. You tried to smile at him, and then turned to stare out the window.

John was on his phone, probably calling another taxi.

Sherlock stood with his hands in his pockets, watching you with unreadable pale blue eyes.

Greg reversed out of the driveway, and tore away.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock had the notion that this time he'd gone too far. And he felt... Bad about it.

He'd never expected to make you cry, and certainly never meant for you to wind up sick with hypothermia as a result of his actions. As John would not speak to him the rest of the day, he had time alone with his thoughts and came to the conclusion that what he did perhaps hadn't been the well-thought out punishment he'd expected it to be after all. The simple fact that you insisted John stay to look after him proved that you were not infact one of Mycroft's little spies, here to tattle on Sherlock, but you were what you said you were: A person completely and utterly commited to his well-being and safekeeping. And he had repaid your attempts to keep him alive with utter cruelty. Now, Sherlock Holmes was feeling extraordinarily guilty, something he didn't feel very often.

The look in your eyes... The way your blue lower lip had quivered... The shuddering of your chest as you drew in ragged breaths and tried to keep yourself warm...

John huffed, and turned away, folding his arms and glaring angrily out the window.

Sherlock ran a hand through his curly hair in agitation. He had to make it up to you in some way.

But how?

 

* * *

 

When John and Sherlock arrived back the evening they were greeted by the sight of your camp bed underneath the stairs to their flat. They followed the sound of loud, exasperated voices into Mrs Hudson's kitchen, where they came across you arguing with Lestrade and the landlady herself.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not staying there anymore" You hissed, looking as furious as you possibly could while cocooned in a purple duvet, "There's no way I'm staying anywhere near him" You shot Sherlock a poisonous glare as they stepped into the room.

"What's going on here?" John demanded, "______, why is your bed under the stairs?"

"I'm going to stay there" You said firmly, "I don't want to stay in 221B anymore"

"I'm trying to tell her that that's not a good idea!" Greg exclaimed agitatedly, "She'll be uncomfortable!"

You gave a harsh laugh and gestured at Sherlock; "He makes me uncomfortable! He's an asshole. I'll do my job, I'll be a 'glorified watch-dog' but I won't be around him when I don't have to be. And that's final"

You stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind you. The loud sound echoed through the silence you left in your wake as they all just stared at the floor by their feet instead of at eachother.

"I kind of need to get back to the station" Greg announced awkwardly, checking his watch.  
"Yeah. Thanks, Greg" John said distractedly.

"Call me if you need anything" He muttered before following you from the room.

"Don't forget your coat, dear. Bit nippy outside" Mrs Hudson called after him.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock sat in his armchair by the fire, staring into the flame. He'd tried to talk to you when he came out, only to have you pointedly ignore him and pretend he wasn't there. He thought it was kind of childish, after all it was one of the few times he actually attempted to apologise, and the person had just blanked him. John was fretting in his bedroom, he had been unable to persuade you to come back up either. Sherlock sighed, raking a head through his curly dark hair. He was Sherlock Holmes, and he was not one to give up.

He certainly was not one to be ignored.

Getting abruptly to his feet, he quietly opened the door to the flat, and began to sneak downstairs to where you lay. As he got nearer the bottom, he noted with some surprise that you were fast asleep, wrapped up in your duvet and snoring softly. It was almost slightly... Endearing? Gently, he moved the gun away from from the side of your pillow and onto the floor. He then stood back, debating how to wake you. But you looked so peaceful. Calm. Your expression was unguarded and for some unfathomable reason he didn't want that to change, which he knew it would as soon as you saw him. Seeing how much dislike you had regarded him with in Mrs Hudson's kitchen had unnerved him. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He stooped down and carefully scooped you into his arms, blankets and all. He felt a hot water bottle press into his chest, and as he held you in his arms he realized that you were still shivering a small bit. That wouldn't do. Watching his step, he began to make his way up the steps to his flat. He paused as you wriggled briefly in his arms, and for a second he feared that you'd roll out of them and hit the floor. However, you seemed to calm down after a few seconds, and went back into a deep sleep. He breathed a sigh of relief, and continued his pace until he reached the front door. Shouldering it open, he let himself in and strode across to his own armchair, which he then gingerly deposited you into.  
Stepping back, he watched the firelight flicker over your sleeping face and felt like chuckling. How were you expected to guard him from intruders when you were such a heavy sleeper?

You shivered again, and your brow furrowed in discomfort, though you did not wake. Sherlock slowly dragged the armchair closer to the fire, and then knelt down to tend to it.

 

* * *

 

You woke to delicious heat coating your body. For a second you had no clue where you were, but then you remembered you were on the camp bed under the stairs leading to Sherlock and John's flat.

But under the stairs had never been this warm, had it?

You blinked, opening your eyes, and the first thing you saw was the fire burning infront of you.

"Wha..?" You mumbled, shifting around.

Something slid down your blanket, and you realized that someone had put a second hot water bottle in with the first, and someone had carried you upstairs into Sherlock and John's flat to seat you by the fire.

"John?" You asked in a voice still drowsy with sleep.

"Not exactly" Came the cautious reply.

You stiffened at the voice, and then turned your head slightly to look down at Sherlock, who was sitting infront of the fireplace and poking it with a metal rod.

"Sherlock?" You started in surprise.

"Yes" He replied.

"Why?" You stared at him, too confused to remember to be angry.

"I owed you" He said with downcast eyes and a slight shrug of his shoulder, "Look, ____.. What I did... It wasn't right. It was horrible. I mislead myself into believing that you were just spying on me for Mycroft. I wanted to make your job so miserable that you'd quit and leave me alone"

You digested the information slowly; "So you decided to give me hypothermia?"

"It wasn't intentional. I realized my mistake when you told John to stay with me. You're a good person, _____... And I'm very sorry"

You felt yourself softening as you mulled it all over. The sincerity in his eyes as he regarded you was more than enough to convince you that he'd seen the error of his way. Plus, he'd carried you up here, sat you in his personal chair close to the fire and looked after you while you were sleeping. If that wasn't him trying to make up for how he'd acted, than you didn't know what was. A part of you wanted to drag this out, to make him beg for your forgiveness even more. But that was a small, evil part, and was over encompassed by just how very touched you were.

"It's okay" You murmured eventually, "I forgive you"

A happy smile broke over his face, and he moved to crouch beside your chair.

"Friends?" He asked, extending one large, calloused hand.

You gave an amused shake of your head, but placed your hands in his.

"Friends" You agreed, and shook.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have no idea how y'all react to this chapter. Sorry if there mistakes. I'll fix 'em later.
> 
> *FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED*

"I need you to do something for me" Sherlock said a few days later as you ate breakfast.

"Sure" You smiled at him, spooning some cornflakes into your mouth, "What is it?"

"Date me"

You choked on your cereal in shock.

Sherlock watched impassively as you thumped yourself on the chest and coughed while turning bright red in the face. Finally catching your breath, you looked at him with shocked, watery eyes.

"Did I just hear you right?" 

"It's for a case"

"Oh" You slumped back in your seat, feeling relieved.

"I need to go to a restaurant tonight to watch a suspect. It'll look less suspicious if I have a woman with me" He explained as he opened the fridge to locate the milk.

"It's fine, I'll go. Just as long as you're paying for my food" You shrugged, and resumed eating.

"You know, it's not an actual date. I'm under no obligation to pay for you" He protested.

"Hypothermia" You reminded him.

He sighed and closed the fridge to lean his back against it. He fixed you with a hard stare.

"Are you ever going to let that go?" He growled, but he didn't look too angry.

"Maybe if you buy me my food" You tried to stop smiling.

"The government should have just gotten you to do all of their negotiations for them. You can guilt-trip for England" He shook his head in amusement.

You laughed at that, and he turned to grab the milk off the counter. He lifted it over his cup of tea, and tilted it to pour. Nothing came out. He glared at it in annoyance, as if wondering how an inanimate object was able to insult him so much.

That thought almost made you snort, so you just busied yourself with finishing your breakfast. When you were done, you rose with your bowl in hand to set it on the sink. You'd almost gotten just as bad as Sherlock with leaving things around for John or Mrs Hudson to clean up.

"John will get mad if you don't put your bowl in the dishwasher" Sherlock reminded you as you went to leave.

"John's spent the night out with his girlfriend. I had to stay here and mind you. I think he can afford to deal with my recently acquired slobbish tendencies after he left me alone with you on Monopoly night"

"I still maintain that you cheated" Sherlock insisted.

You rolled your eyes, but continued walking from the room. After a few hours playing that board game you understood why John had skipped out: Sherlock got furiously competitive and really didn't like to lose. It was like dealing with a spoilt five year old, but you were used to him by now.

"No, you just suck at Monopoly"

 

* * *

 

"You look very nice" Sherlock complimented as you stepped into the living room of the flat.

"I could say the same to you" You smirked, taking in his tall, black suit-clad body, "Do you like the necklace? Mrs Hudson insisted I wear it. Apparently it was the first necklace her husband got her with the money from his drug cartel" You fiddled with the chain around your neck and giggled.

"A government agent wearing a necklace bought with drug money. What on Earth would you bosses say to that?" He crossed his legs and clasped his hands on his lap, arching a brow to wait for your answer.

"They'd probably say it went well with this dress" 

"Then they'd have good taste" He said smoothly, standing up from his armchair and offering you his arm.

"You're being very courteous" You chuckled, slipping your arm through his.

"All part of the act" He replied, and began to lead you towards the door.

"Could you grab my bag off the table beside you?" You asked, poking his side with your free hand.

He gave your prodding finger a short, annoyed look (which you ignored), turned smartly to grab the bag, and hoisted it up into the air. Apparently he expected it to be light, as you saw the look of surprise on his face as his arm sagged slightly as the bag's full weight fell upon him.

"What do you have in here!? Bricks!?" He exclaimed as he handed it to you.

"Yup. Some of them are even as large as your ego" You slid the strap over your other arm.

"My ego has a reason to be big. I'm the smartest man in the world" Sherlock boasted as he began to lead you down the stairs.

"Do you forget how you falsely accused me of being an informat, and then left me to get hypothermia?"

"We all make mistakes, and I thought you said we were okay"

"We are. I just like how uncomfortable you get whenever I bring it up"

Sherlock snorted and shook his head in exasperation. He then stepped out onto the dark street, and let out a loud whistle with a raised hand to summon an oncoming taxi. One slid noisily up to the curb beside him, and he opened the door. He moved back and spread his arm out grandly to allow you to clamber in before him. Tugging your dress down in fear that it may rise up, you climbed in ahead of him and sat down. He slid in beside you, shutting the door as he moved.

"Aye, mate" The cabbie said as Sherlock gave him the name of the restaurant.

Sherlock settled back in his seat and you stared at him sternly.

"What?" He asked in confusion.

"Seatbelt" You reminded him, leaning across his body to grab the strap and place it in his hand.

"I don't need it" He waved dismissively at you, and your frown grew deeper.

He let out a sudden yelp of shock when you tugged it forward, and buckled him into the seat yourself. He reached down to press the red button to release it, but you battered his hand away.

"If you try touch that belt again I'll cut off your damn fingers" You put as much aggression into your tone as you could, but you both knew that you were in no way serious.

"Have it your way, then" He grumbled, leaning back.

You smiled in satisfaction and turned to stare out the window, taking in all the sights.

"In which direction is the London Eye?" You said suddenly.

Sherlock swivelled back to you, and leaned over your lap. The side of his curly dark hair brushed against your temple, and you got a sudden whiff of cologne. Man, he smelled good. You were pretty sure it was Bleu de Chanel. You'd always had a weakness for that particular scent.

Trying not to seem too obvious about it, you turned your face a fraction so that your nose was in the space between his chin and collarbone, and took another deep breath. Yup, Bleu de Chanel it was. 

"That way" He said abruptly and pointed, his eyes still staring out the window.

"What?" You wrinkled your nose in momentary confusion.

"The London Eye" He explained, looking at you with an arched brow, "You asked where it was"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry" You blushed, following his pointing finger.

"What was distracting you so much?" He pestered.

"Nothing!" You protested, "I'm just tired"

Evidently accepting that he wasn't going to get anything out of you, he gazed back out your window once again as the taxi wound through the streets of London.

"Have you ever been?" He enquired, and this time you knew he was talking about the Eye.

"No. But I'd like to" You admitted in a slightly dreamy voice.

He snorted as he took in your expression; "Please tell me you're not one of those air-headed females who are waiting for their romantic kiss on the top of the London Eye"

You narrowed your eyes at him, "You know, it's meant to be a romantic kiss at the top of the Eiffel Tower"

"A kiss is a kiss, no matter where it happens. You shouldn't indulge yourself in fairytales. They build up hopes, but they never come true" He told you flatly.

You were puzzled by how vehement he was on the topic, but instead of getting into an argument with him on whether or not romantic love like in movies existed, you just ended the debate with a simple: "Who spit in your Cheerios?"

For a moment he seemed too shocked to think of a comeback, then he just laughed slightly and retaliated; "If it was anyone, it was probably you"

You burst out laughing like that, and after a few seconds he joined you.

"You're so much more fun when you don't act like a robot" You teased.

He rolled his eyes, but you could see your compliment had pleased him.

"We're here" He announced as the taxi jolted to a stop.

He threw some money at the cabbie, and then opened the door to step out. You were nicely surprised when he turned to offer you a hand as you edged out. You thanked him, and then turned to look at the restaurant infront of you. It was white and brightly lit, with large windows that allowed you to see the well-dressed staff and the even better dressed customers sitting inside. Each covered table seemed to have at least one single red rose on it, and also a candle burning in the middle.

It was entirely too romantic.

You glanced at Sherlock to see if he was as uncomfortable as you, but his eyes were searching the crowd inside. You then remembered that you were here for a job, nothing more and nothing less, so you relaxed slightly.

"There he is" He murmured, staring at one balding man at a table with four other men.

"Shall we go?" You wondered aloud.

His answer was to reach down and take your hand in his, entwining your fingers.

You started in shock, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Don't flatter yourself" He muttered, "We have to blend in"

Not knowing what to say, you just kept your mouth closed and nodded mutely. Sighing loudly, Sherlock began to lead you inside. You were greeted by a moustached waiter, who asked you for your booking name.

"Anderson" Sherlock told him, and you tried not to chuckle.

"Zis way, sir" The waiter called as he lead you through the maze of tables, "'Ere it is, le number onety-one"

"Eleven" Sherlock corrected irritably as he pulled out a seat for you to sit down on, "You mean number eleven"

You averted your eyes as your lower lip trembled. Apparently your brief thoughts at what he meant by taking your hand had annoyed him to the extent that he had to take it out on strangers.

'Apologizes, sir" The waiter was unfazed, "I will go get ze menus, oui?"

"Oui" You replied with a smile before Sherlock could berate him again.

He gave you a good natured wink, and swept away in a blur of cloth.

"You're very grumpy" You smirked, "Something the matter?"

"I don't like these seats" He snapped, "And now if you'll excuse me, I have a suspect to watch"

Giving up, you sighed and breathed; "Of course you don't..."

He didn't answer, so you dropped your head to stare at your plate. As if he had teleported, the little French waiter zoomed back infront of you again.

"Your dress! It looks... 'Ow you say? Magnifique!" He told you with a joyful cry as he handed you both two menus.

"Thank you!" You gushed, looking down at the expensive red dress, "I love it, but my boyfriend here only complimented the necklace"

As you knew he would, Sherlock jerked his attention from the list of food and back to you at the word 'boyfriend.' You hid the smile on your face by taking a sip of the water glass set infront of you, and watched your 'significant other' splutter in indignation. 

"'Ow rude!" The waiter cried, his moustache twitching, "If I liked ze ladies, I would be showering your woman wif ze compliments right now! Beautiful lady! Belle fille!"

"I promise I'll shower her with compliments after you bring me sirloin steak" Sherlock growled, handing the menu back to him and flicking his fingers to indicate that he wanted him to leave.

"Gah!" The little firebrand of a server exclaimed, "I know not 'ow you put up wif Monsieur Crankyhead 'ere, belle fille!"

"Neither do I" You giggled, loving how infuriated Sherlock was looking, "Neither. Do. I"

"Patient lady... And what would you like for dinner?"

You proceeded to order your pasta off the menu, and the waiter winked at you as you gave back your menu.

"Until ve meet again!" He promised, and then veered away.

You stared at Sherlock in amusement.

"What?" He asked defensively, "Monsieur Crankyhead" You repeated, laughing.

"That annoying little man" He complained.

You decided to let it slide. If Sherlock got wound up much more he'd probably cause a scene and then leave. As grumpy as the man you had for company was, you were actually having a good time.

"How's your target?" You asked, changing the subject.

"Boring. At first I thought those men might be business associates. I was wrong. They're actually all brothers, and he's not going to discuss business with them"

"So... You want to leave?" You were disappointed.

He looked at you for a long few seconds, and then smirked; "No. We wouldn't leave. I got you to come here, and I'm not going to force you to go when I can plainly see that you're enjoying yourself"

Not knowing what to say, you shot him a small, amused grin and took another sip of the cool, refreshing water.

 

* * *

 

"Will you faint in shock if I told you I actually had fun?" You asked as you walked up to the door of 221B Baker Street.

Sherlock let out a short laugh, and shook his head; "Will YOU be shocked if I tell you that I had fun?" He retorted.

You immediately put your hand to your forehead and pretended to swoon.

"Oh, come on, you messer" Sherlock chuckled as he held the door open for you.

You stepped in, and he swung it shut behind him, chuckling. You both fell into a comfortable silence as you trooped up the stairs. Unfortunately, Sherlock tripped slightly and fell into you. He managed to keep his balance and not knock you over completely, but you had gone stumbling into the wall. He began to apologize, but you just gave him an evil grin and bumped your shoulder into his. This continued all the way up the stairs, and until the door to the flat was open.

When you finally staggered into the flat, John was scowling at you from his chair with his arms folded.

"Where have you two been?" He snapped, looking extraordinarily like a parent who had to deal with two misbehaving teenagers.

You and Sherlock both looked at each other before replying in unison: "Out" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... Next chapter is something different. In the next one we're weaving into the BBC story.  
> We're going to Baskerville.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> {"So. Demon hounds, missing men... Either of you want to back out now?" Sherlock asked, the wind ruffling his dark curls.  
> "Nope" John answered, laughing slightly.  
> "_____?" Sherlock enquired.  
> "Let's go catch us a monster" You replied, squaring your shoulders.}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So thank you for the encouraging comments and kudos, people, you mean the world to me! Sorry we haven't gotten to get to Baskerville just yet, but we'll be there next chapter. Next chapter will probably be posted at the weekend, as I have a friend coming over to stay for like four days, and it'll be hard to write when he's here. I tried to keep this as close to the actual dialogue as possible, but it goes on for a while so I had to skip some parts (most of it is in there, though).  
> If there are mistakes I'll fix 'em later, and I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Just to explain, Sherlock's still a bit hot and cold towards the reader, as she's still in the process of wearing him down. She's doing a good job though, so it shouldn't be too much longer. His changes in attitude towards her kinda all stem from him trying to seem aloof, but he can't stop the niceness pouring through the crack in his armour, so he's kind of at war with himself.
> 
> Hope you enjoy anyhow. Let me know, yeah?

The door to 221B slammed shut so hard that all the bobble head dogs in Speedy's cafe would probably be shaking their heads for a week. Sighing, you yanked open the door once again, and followed Sherlock into the apartment. He'd closed the front door on you in his haste to get in, and for once you didn't really mind. Even five seconds of a break was a relief.

It had been a long morning.

"You got on the tube like _that_!?" You heard John ask in disbelief as you trooped up the stairs.

"None of the cabs would take me" Sherlock spat.

"I wonder why!?" You exclaimed sarcastically as you stepped into the flat and snatched the sharp harpoon from Sherlock's hands.

John cocked an eyebrow at you, and you just shook your head to indicate you really didn't want to talk about it. Placing the weapon far away from him by the fireplace, you figured you'd have to find somewhere to dispose of it safely later. You couldn't just leave it lying around the flat; Anyone who broke in could use it to their advantage. Plus, you really didn't want Sherlock to put another hole in Mrs Hudson's walls. After depositing the fishing spear, you sunk into Sherlock's armchair without even enquiring as to if it was okay. Sherlock cleared his throat, drawing your attention to him and looking intently at you. You just stared back impassively, daring him to challenge you to get up after everything that you had put up with this morning.

"Go get changed" You ordered, not moving from the chair.

Sherlock seemed to prepare for an argument, but then glanced down at his bloodied clothes.

"I suppose I shall" He shrugged in defeat, and then shuffled off towards his room.

"That goddamn man" You groaned as soon as he'd left, covering your face in your hands.

"That bad, eh?" John asked sympathetically.

"He went on the _tube_ like that!" You semi-wailed, "I couldn't convince him to leave it behind and I had to fend off one guy who got into an argument with him! It was the tube ride through _hell_ "

"I'm sure glad I didn't go then" John shook his head, switching off his laptop and rising from the desk, "You could use a drink"

"Vodka" You called after him as he stepped into the kitchen.

"But it's only the morning!" He yelled in reply.

"I have a feeling that it's a vodka-for-breakfast kinda day" You grumbled, slumping back on the chair and closing your eyes.

You heard John laugh slightly, and there was a few minutes of dim clanking sounds as he got your drink. Eventually, something cold was pushed into your hands, and you opened your eyes to grin up at John.

"Thank you" You said, taking a sip, "It's just as cold as Sherlock's heart"

"Heard that" The now-unbloodied consulting detective appeared back in the room, blue dressing gown flapping around his legs.

"You were meant to" You replied, taking another sip.

"John! Cases!?" Sherlock snapped, marching over to the fireplace and grabbing the spear again.

"Sherlock..." You said warningly, but he didn't pay any heed.

Losing interest, you grabbed a book of John's desk and began to read it as you sipped your drink, while John called out cases to Sherlock and Sherlock dismissed every one of them.

"Hmm, another picture of you with the, uhm..." John gestured to the paper, which contained a picture of him in his hat.

You snorted as you looked at it, but jumped as Sherlock let out a roar:

"Nothing of importance! UHHH, GOD!" He turned to glare at his friend, "John, I need some. Get me some"

"Say please" You reprimanded primly, and he then directed his glare at you.

"No" John answered at the same time as you.

"Get me some" 

"No"

You settled back in your chair and figured you'd just enjoy watching John take his turn dealing with the man-child.

"No, we agreed. Cold turkey, remember?"

"I remember" You interjected.

"Plus" John continued as if you hadn't spoken, "You paid everyone off. No one in a two mile radius will sell you anything"

You grinned as you remember the wad of twenties in your purse that Sherlock had given you.

"Stupid idea, who's idea was that?" Sherlock hissed, and you put a hand to your mouth to stop yourself from giggling.

It was kind of obvious that the vodka was having an effect on your empty stomach.

John just cleared his throat and didn't answer. He was way better at ignoring Sherlock than you were. You wondered if the ability to tune him out was something that you'd pick up over time.

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlock shouted, and began to fling papers into the air.

You were aware of your lower lip trembling with suppressed mirth, and had to bite back the laughter as John tried to reason with Sherlock and calm him down. 

"I'll let you know next weeks lottery numbers"

John just smiled and shook his head.

"Worth a shot" Sherlock grumbled and turned to you.

"Forget it" You said immediately, "I'm not telling you where we've put your stash"

"I'll pay you £200 to go on a drugs bust and bring me back what I need. Or even to go to the shops and get it" He tried.

"Honey, I make that much money in an hour while I sit here and do nothing" You chortled, enjoying how enraged he looked.

Turning away from you, he very un-gracefully swan dived onto the floor and began to scramble around by the fireplace.

Mrs Hudson than arrived and Sherlock turned his attention to harassing her. When his deductions started you glanced up again, only to start in shock and horror when you realized he was had taken the harpoon again without you noticing and was pointing it at her as he babbled.

"Nope" You muttered to yourself, rising from the sofa and prying it from his hands.

He didn't seem to notice as you walked past and him and down the stairs, intending on hiding to somewhere he (and others who meant harm) wouldn't find it. You glanced around to make sure no one from 221B was watching you from the top of the stairs, and set down the weapon to turn your attention to Mrs Hudson's door. Taking two hairpins from your pocket, you began to pick the lock. It opened after a few minutes, and you stepped into Mrs Hudson's flat. As soon as you'd opened the door you heard the clatter of her heels on the stair, and so you threw yourself into a wardrobe in order to avoid her. She was a nice old lady, and you got on well, but she didn't know you were a government agent and you wanted to keep it that way, which meant she couldn't see you do anything as suspicious as breaking and entering (even though you hadn't broken anything). You didn't think she'd feel too comfortable knowing a trained killer with burglar skills was living upstairs, and you'd like to keep her present warmth towards you intact.

Even if that meant letting her imagination run wild with more-than-slightly-absurd scenarios:

On more than one occasion, she had suggested that she thought that you, Sherlock and John were having ménage a trois, and that she was perfectly okay with it.

You waited until you'd heard her enter the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of Sherlock screeching at John upstairs before slowly making your way to the small cloak room. Carefully, you placed the harpoon behind the coat rack, and then crept out of the apartment, only pausing to lock the door behind you.  The sounds of the telephone shrieked through the air, and you knew it was someone calling with a case. Hopefully, it would be one good enough for Sherlock's attention.

"And back to the madhouse" You muttered as you jogged up the stairs.

 

 

* * * 

 

 

_Baskerville._

The lady on the TV continued talking, and you shook your head in order to focus your attention back on her. You didn't know why your palms had gotten so sweaty and why your heart was racing. Maybe it was just the legend freaking you out? You'd never been overly fond of ghost stories, after all. You discreetly rubbed your hands on your jeans, hoping no one would notice. After another few minutes you suddenly became aware of eyes on you, and glanced over your shoulder to see John giving you a concerned look.

 _You okay?_ He mouthed.

You gave him your best smile and nodded your head. _Yes._

You twisted back to the TV, continued to listen. The man sitting in the armchair suddenly appeared on screen, telling his part of the story and you leaned forward to listen. Then the screen went blank, and Sherlock commenced with his interrogation. You could see that the man, Henry, was rather nervous and upset. You thought briefly about comforting him, but John beat you to it.

"In your own time" The doctor encouraged kindly.

"But quite quickly" Sherlock interjected.

You rolled your eyes automatically at his rudeness.

You listened intently as Henry began to explain his story, talking about Dartmoor. God, you felt ill. You really shouldn't have had so much to drink on an empty stomach.

"______?" You were aware of Sherlock speaking to you.

He didn't sound all businesslike, he seemed slightly concerned. You dragged your eyes from the client to Sherlock's pale blue ones. You were standing behind his armchair, ready to defend him if necessary.

"Are you alright?" He asked, "You look a bit pale. Sit down"

He rose from his chair, towering above you, and reached out to take hold of your arm. With a gentleness that was so out of character considering how he had been just  speaking to Henry, he carefully pulled you around the front of the chair and sat you down in his place. He then perched beside you on the arm of the chair, and laid a comforting hand on your shoulder as he motioned for the client to go on.

"Did you see the devil that night?" John said seriously.

"Yes... It was huge, coal black fur... With red.. Eyes... It got him... Tore at him... Tore him apart... I can't remember anything else. They found me next morning just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found"

You felt sick, and closed your eyes, though still listened to the conversation. You were never going to drink on the job again. Dimly, you were aware of Sherlock's thumb rubbing slow, calming circles on your skin. He was being nice now, you felt bad for how annoyed you'd been at him earlier. You really did like moments like this when he was actually sweet. Sherlock started deducing things about Henry again, and you smiled through your headache. He was pretty damn good, you'd give him that. You probably should tell him that out loud sometimes, you still tended to insult him a lot more than you complimented him.

"Henry, your parent both died, and you were what? Seven years old-"

Sherlock stood up beside you, and you watched as he closed in on Henry. You shared a disbelieving look with John as he began to sniff up the smoke coming from the cigarette.

"That is just _weird_ " You heard yourself saying, and Henry shot you a look that said he totally agreed, all the while the cigarette hung out of his mouth. 

John continued to try give a rational explanation for what Henry had seen, and you thought it sounded a hell of a lot more likely than his dad being mauled to death by a super-dog.

"What happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry" Sherlock quizzed him, removing his hand from your shoulder to lean forward and clasp both of his together, "What did you see that changed everything?"

"Strange place; The Hollow" Henry muttered, taking another puff of his cigarette, "Makes you feel so empty, so dead inside"

Knowing Sherlock's reaction to these kind of words, your eyes immediately flew up to fasten on his face, eager to see his reaction. You weren't disappointed. 

With an eye-roll that firmly stated _I don't have time for this,_ Sherlock quipped; "Yes, if we wanted poetry ______ and I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends, they're much funnier"

You stiffened guiltily as John sighed and turned to look at you in anger. Giving him an apologetic face, you quickly turned back to focus on Henry, feeling the doctor's angry gaze bore into your back.

 _I am going to kill Sherlock_ , You thought.

"Footprints" Henry said, confusing you for a moment as you were so involved with your inner babble.

Then you remembered what they were talking about; Sherlock had asked Henry what he'd seen that freaked him out so much.  By the time you'd remembered that was what was happening, Sherlock was already in the process of dismissing Henry.

"Cup of tea, _____?" He asked, ignoring Henry and getting up to stride into the kitchen.

"Mr Holmes" The client called after him, desperation coating his face, "They were the footprints of a gigantic _hound"_

Ice cold dread rushed through your veins, and you saw Sherlock's back stiffen as he froze in his tracks. The consulting detective turned and made his way back to the living room, and you could see his mind working furiously behind his eyes.

"Sherlock, listen to him" You pleaded, for you knew this man was not joking.

No one could feign as much fear and horror that laced his voice.

"Say that again" Sherlock insisted, his eyes briefly meeting yours before sliding to Henry.

"I found footprints-" Henry started.

"No no no, you're exact words. Repeat your exact words from the moment ago, exactly as you said them" Sherlock ordered, brow furrowed.

You turned to John. All the anger was gone from his face, and he shared a confused look with you as you both waited for Henry to answer.

"Mr Holmes... They were the footprints of a gigantic... Hound"

Sherlock seemed frozen for one tiny second, before becoming animated and moving once more.

"I'll take the case" He decided, and proceeded to thank Henry.

"No no no, sorry. What?" John pointed a pen at him, "A minute ago footprints were boring, now they're very promising?"

You nodded, showing you agreed with John. Why had Sherlock changed his mind so suddenly?

Sherlock proceeded to give an explanation, but you were too busy studying his face. He may not tell the truth with his words, but you could read it behind his eyes. There was something that he wasn't telling you.

"So you're coming down, then?" Henry was excited.

You expected Sherlock to say yes. You shouldn't have. You'd known the man for a number of weeks now, and he'd never failed to surprise you. You should have known better to think you'd know what he'd do next.

"No, I can't leave at the moment, far too busy" He told the client emotionlessly, "But don't worry, I'm putting my best man onto it" He patted John on the shoulder.

"What!?" You exclaimed, leaping to your feet.

"Just the man to send me all the relevant date, seeing as he never understands it himself"

"What are you talking about, 'You're busy'?" John demanded, "You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining-"

"Bluebell, John!" Sherlock answered, "Bluebell! Case of the vanishing glow in the dark rabbit!"

Your nose wrinkled in complete puzzlement, and you figured that this might about be the weirdest day of your entire life.

"So you're not coming then?"

"Oh. Okay" John got to his feet, looking simultaneously pissed off and bewildered.

You watched as he made his way over to where you had hidden Sherlock's cigarettes. Pulling them out, he then threw them at Sherlock, who made a face and chucked them away.

"Don't need those anymore, I'm going to Dartmoor" He grinned, turning to leave, "You go on, Henry, we'll follow later"

"What is happening?" You groaned, having no clue what game Sherlock was playing.

"I'm sorry, so you _are_ coming?" 

"Twenty year old disappearance, a monstrous hound? Wouldn't miss this for the world" Sherlock smirked, before finally walking down the hall to pack up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You always had a backpack of clothes and weapons ready, incase you ever needed to make a quick getaway. Grabbing that and dragging it to the front door, you decided to make your way to Speedy's cafe to waste some time while the boys packed their stuff. You ended up ordering three squares of rocky road, and munched on one while heading back up the stairs to the flat. From the landing you entered the messy flat, and made your way to John's room first.

"Knock knock" You smiled shyly, tapping on the slightly open door, "Can I come in?"

"Not if you're here to read more poetry" He retorted, frowning.

You winced, knowing that while in the earlier excitement he may have forgotten what Sherlock had admitted, he remembered it now, and he was mad.

"I come with a peace offering" You held out the rocky road.

He rolled his eyes, but took it.

"I expect that kind of behaviour from Sherlock, not you, ______" He said quietly, and you felt bad.

You had invaded his privacy, and you knew you were in the wrong.

"Not that shirt" You advised him, stopping him from packing an ugly Hawaiian shirt and putting it back in the drawer.

"I know. I'm sorry" You told him glumly, as you passed him out a jumper you figured would do, "Sherlock was reading them, and he quoted a few to me and I just had to look for myself. It was bad of me to do so. We're friends and I betrayed your trust. I'm sorry. I wouldn't do it again"

John mulled this over, before shaking his head and smiling; "I suppose it would be hard for anyone to ignore such a juicy bit of bait if it fell onto their lap, eh?"

You chuckled, glad he wasn't going to stay angry at you.

"I better go give this to Sherlock" You pointed at the other treat.

"You're packed already?" John exclaimed.

"I always keep a bag ready" You answered, giving him a quick hug and leaving the room.

"Sherlock? It's it okay if I come in?" You called, as his door was closed.

"Yes" Came the reply, and you twisted the handle and stepped into Sherlock's room.

You'd never actually been in there, so you spun around as you walked, taking in all of the sights.

"You're acting like a tourist on holiday" He commented dryly from where he was watching you at the end of the bed.

"I feel more like a wildlife expert" You joked, "Entering the lair of an exotic, wild animal"

"I can assure you I wouldn't rip you to shreds with my claws" He said dryly.

You ignored his comment, and held out the food timidly, like you were afraid he'd take a chunk out of your fingers if you moved too quick, "And here, in central London" You tried to mimic Steve Irwin's voice to the best of your abilities, "The brave explorer _____ ________ has stumbled across the cave of a Sherlock, a rare beast with curly dark fur and a shockingly grumpy demeanour. Watch out fellas, this one's _dangerous_!"

Sherlock just rolled his eyes, but slid the rocky road out of your hands; "You're far too immature to be a government agent"

"Not all of us are as rigid your brother" You replied, lying on his bed and swinging your feet onto it.

"Sometimes I consider that a blessing, but other times, like when you have your dirty boots on my duvet, I find it to be rather a curse" Sherlock tried to reach down and pull you off, but you grabbed the pillow beside you and smacked it into his head.

He drew back looking startled, and you giggled. 

"You're such a child" He told you softly, trying not to look amused.

"It's okay to smile, you know" You said, reaching out to poke his cheek, "I do"

"Yes, but no matter how much you saw it, you are not a sociopath, ______. I am. You can smile and enjoy things, I can't" He replied, beginning to look slightly strained.

"And while you may seem part robot at times, we both know none of that is true" You shot back, "I can see the emotions in your eyes, Sherlock. You may be able to convince others you don't have feelings, but you can't convince me. We're too alike for that"

He stared at you for a moment, and you held his gaze.

"We'll see" He said eventually, quietly.

"We will" You answered confidently.

"Go get a cab" He ordered abruptly, turning back to his suitcase.

 "What's the magic word?" You asked, rising to your feet to put your hands on your hips as if berating a small child.

"Please" He said after a few seconds.

"Good boy" You ruffled his hair, catching his look of shock before you left the room.

You grabbed your bag and then popped in to say goodbye to Mrs Hudson, but she wasn't in her flat. You left her a note, and shrugged on your jacket as you stepped outside, dragging the rugsack along the ground in one hand. Stepping to the side of the road, you let out a piercing whistle like Sherlock had taught you to, and int he next few seconds a grey cab pulled towards you.

"Train station" You told the cabbie, opening the door and sticking your head on, "But hang on a second, we've got two more on the way"

You turned back to lean against the side of the vehicle, and suddenly became aware of shouting from Speedy's. Peering in through the dirty glass windows, you noticed Mrs Hudson yelling at some man you'd never seen before. You thought about going inside and seeing what the problem was, but decided it was none of your business. She seemed to be handling it well on her own anyway. The man appeared terrified, and couldn't get a word in edgeways. He kept trying to calm her down, glancing around him at all the other people listening, but she was having none of it. You strained to hear what was being said, but her voice was only a high, furious drone.

Sherlock appeared the next second, dragging a suitcase behind him. After throwing it into the cab, he rested his arm on the car door and joined you in observing the spectacle. 

"What's happening?" You asked quietly.

"Oh, yes, you had gone somewhere when I told her..." He sighed, "Mrs Hudson has been seeing a married man, and I told her as such earlier"

"Ouch" You winced, "Poor her"

"Hmmm, I'd say poor man. She looks like she's going to attack him" Sherlock chuckled.

"I don't blame her" You sympathized, "Men can be assholes"

Sherlock shot you a curious look, but didn't pry into your obvious bitterness at the matter. It was obvious to see that you had had some kind of romantic relationship that you were still somewhat bitter about.

"Except for you" You continued, "You're always an asshole"

You had meant it as a joke, but he didn't reply, so you gently touched his arm and said; "Kidding"

He opened his mouth to speak, but then John emerged, struggling with two bags. Mrs Hudson chose that moment to throw something at the shop window, making you jump.

"Oh. Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster" John commented as all three of you turned to watch some more.

"Wait until she finds out about the one in Islamabad" Sherlock finished, and you started in shock.

Sherlock's lip quivered upwards as he caught your expression, and he pushed you into the cab after John. You were stuck in the seat inbetween them, but you didn't really mind. You were going on a case, and as much as you didn't like ghost stories, it was exciting to get out of London for a bit.

"Paddington station, please" Sherlock told the cabbie, closing the door behind him.

You looked to the two men on either side of you.

Sherlock was on his phone, and John was staring out the window. You figured you may as well settle back to get some sleep if neither of them were going to talk to you. Closing your eyes, seemed like mere seconds before John tapped you on the shoulders.

"Come on. We're going to Dartmoor" He smiled, and you turned to take Sherlock's hand as he helped you out of the taxi.

Your bag was passed to you, the cabbie was paid, and the taxi drove away. Standing infront of the station, you all looked at one another.

"So. Demon hounds, missing men... Either of you want to back out now?" Sherlock asked, the wind ruffling his dark curls.

"Nope" John answered, laughing slightly.

"_____?" Sherlock enquired.

"Let's go catch us a monster" You replied, squaring your shoulders.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I hope you enjoy this chapter... It basically killed me. It's the longest chapter I've done so far, and the last one of this length that I'll probably ever do. Sorry that it's basically the length of a Russian novel, but I wanted to get the entire episode down in one chapter. I wrote it while watching the episode, and between constant pausing and rewinding to get down the storyline and dialogue as best as possible it's taken me four days to get it done. Towards the end, however, I looked up the lines on a transcript, so the link to that is here: http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/28352.html
> 
> Finally though, here it is (I don't think I'll EVER be able to watch 'The Hounds of Baskerville' again after this). Sorry if there are mistakes, I'll fix 'em later. I've proofread it, but there's always the chance I missed something. I tried to make it as easy to follow as possible, but it's the first time I've ever inserted the reader into the actual show, so I don't know how I did (I kinda just presumed you've all seen the episode as many times as I have, and so know the story completely)
> 
> I was also thinking of from now on taking turns in order of character's perspectives. Basically, I may have one chapter where it focuses on the reader's inner thoughts (such as the chapter below) and then the chapter after that it'll revolve more around Sherlock and what he's feeling. It'll still always refer to the reader as 'you' even in the Sherlock-based chapters, because I think changing from referring to yourself from second person to third person in each chapter would be exhausting. If you don't understand what I'm talking about here, don't worry. I probably haven't explained very clearly, but you'll see in the next chapter!
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and lovely comments! You guys are awesome!

On the train ride to Dartmoor you figured you weren't feeling ill because of the vodka. You were  truly sick: Pale, sweaty, the works.

John figured you must have picked up some kind of bug, you thought it was more likely that Sherlock had put something inedible in the fridge again, and that you ate it by accident. He swore he didn't, and after pestering him for three quarters of an hour you decided he was telling the truth. You spent most of the train journey curled in the corner, trying to think of how you could possibly protect Sherlock in such a weakened state.  When you finally arrived in Dartmoor, the men only paused long enough to buy you a bottle of water, and some headache medicine, before renting a car and setting off. It was a large enough jeep, perfect for the winding country roads and travelling over the hills. Sherlock took the wheel, while John sat in the passenger seat with the map infront of him. Though you might have called shotgun if you had been in full health, you weren't, so you were quite happy to let John sit there and stretch out in the back seat. You pulled off your jacket and laid it over you like a blanket, and after a few minutes John passed you back his coat for you to ball up under your head.

"Feeling okay, _____?" Sherlock asked, around twenty five minutes into the journey.

"Meh" You grunted, unscrewing the bottle and taking another sip of liquid.

"I'm sure it'll pass" John said encouragingly, twisting around to look back at you, "But don't look out the window if it'll just make you carsick"

"I think I'll be okay" You replied, peering curiously out of the window.

John gave you another smile, before turning away to look out as well.

It was beautiful, in a kind of desolate way. For miles around you could see nothing but green fields, and rocks. The sky was cloudy and grey, and no birds flew through the air. It was indeed a far cry from London, with it's huge, towering buildings, streets of people, and pigeons swooping through the air. You weren't sure if you liked it better, or worse. Maybe you would have liked it better if it didn't appear so... Gloomy. But maybe that was just a reflection of the cloudy day.

"Where to now, John?" Sherlock's pale eyes were focused on the road ahead.

You were glad he wasn't in one of his hyper, jumpy moods right now. He'd be pretty dangerous behind the wheel if he was.

"I'm... Not exactly sure" John admitted after a few minutes of turning the map upside down and side to side.

You let out an exasperated puff of air from your nostrils. 

Great. You were lost.

"Let me see" Sherlock sighed, pulling in at the side of the road.

The car stopped moving, and you watched Sherlock's lean, pale fingers pluck the map from John/'s hands. There was a few moment of waiting, before Sherlock growled in impatience, and basically threw the map back at his friend.

"Let's find somewhere high to survey the land and get our bearings" He started up the engine again, and John pointed towards the large mound of rocks in the distance.

"How about over there?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Steady" Sherlock grabbed your shaking hand and helped you up the last of the rocks.

"Thanks" You smiled at him, squeezing his fingers before letting go and turning to look around you.

The wind flapped at your coat and stirred your hair, but you barely noticed. You breathed in the fresh air happily, and straightened up to glance at the area around you. You were pretty proud of yourself for making it to the top of the rock mound while feeling so unwell. Sherlock had only had to help you at the very last part, your determination to see the sights was what lead you up there after him. You smiled to yourself, thinking that maybe you weren't entirely useless right now.

The sun had come out, and the sky was looking slightly less grey. It would make rather a nice picture.

Acting on that idea, you dug your phone out of your pocket. The little light at the top of it was flashing to indicate that you had a message, and you quickly read it. Lifting the phone up and angling it towards Sherlock, you took another breath of air to clear your pounding head, and exclaimed; "Smile!"

You snapped a picture, and then laughed at the image of the frowning Sherlock that appeared on the little screen.

"Why did you do that?" The consulting detective himself asked in annoyance.

"I wanted something to remember this day with" You chuckled, "My first out-of-the-city-case with the famous Sherlock Holmes"

He opened his mouth to reply, but John shouting up to you both captured both of your attention.

"There's Baskerville... Ah, that's Grimpen village... So _that_ must be... Yes, Dewer's Hollow"

"What's that?" Sherlock asked, pointing away from you.

You leaned forward to follow the direction of his finger, your shoulders brushing together as you moved. You were aware of him glancing down at you at the contact, but you ignored him and waited for John to answer. John let out a low sound of curiosity, and raised a set of binoculars to his eyes and you kinda wished that you hadn't climbed up the rock mound so you could look through them too.

"A minefield?" He suggested, "Technically, Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out"

"Really" Sherlock murmured, bore his eyes settled on you once again, "I should have asked earlier. You're an intelligence agent. Have you ever heard anything about Baskerville"

"Not my area" You shook you head, "MI6 deals with outside threats, such as Moriarty's global criminal network. This military base in the rear end of no-where has never been anything I've been briefed about"

"I thought so, but I figured I may as well check" Sherlock answered, beginning to make his way down the rocks, "I suppose we shall get going, then. Would you like a hand?"

 

 

* * * 

 

 

The land Rover stopped outside the little inn, and you hopped out of the jeep while popping another pain killer into your mouth simultaneously. Sherlock and John were already walking away, and cursing their impatience; You hurried after them. You passed a gaggle of tourists and your eyes swept over them all, searching for weaponry, or too much interest in Sherlock. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you carried on, but your eyes continued to scan the area.

"Relax, _____" Sherlock whispered as you tried push him behind you so you could enter the building first, "No one will no we're here. It was a spontaneous decision to come down here. No one could have known and prepared for it"

"Just doing my job, Sherl" You replied, stepping over the threshold.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys" The owner said as he handed John a set of keys.

"That's fine" John reassured him, "We're not... There you go" He sighed, giving up on trying to explain.

Beside him, you tried not to snigger, and took another sip of the glass of water set on the bar counter infront of you. It was just so funny how Mrs Hudson, and now this complete stranger seemed to show total conviction in the idea that Sherlock and John were gay. After knowing them for almost two months you found the idea almost as ludicrous as the idea of you and Sherlock as a couple.

"And here's your key" The man turned to you, pressing the cool metal into your palm with a sweaty hand, "A single room right next to theirs. Just as you asked. And by the way there's a chemist just up the road. I see you're looking a wee bit sickly"

"Thank you" You smiled, pocketing the key and passing him a wad of cash from your back pocket.

"I'll just get your change" He said to you and John, heading off for the till.

You turned your head to look at all the people milling around behind you, but to mostly look at Sherlock. He seemed to be wandering aimlessly, and if you hadn't been charged to watch him like a hawk you may have told him to trek back outside and bring in the bags. But you didn't really feel like a walk, so you just left it. Your ears picked up the slight sound of ripping paper behind you, but you ignored it. Not important.

The owner came back, and he and John began to discuss Grimpen Mine. 

Feeling a little fed up with all the chit-chat, you tuned them out and wandered over to Sherlock, who had just picked up and deposited a salt shaker.

"Whatcha doing?" You appeared beside him.

"Investigating" he replied in a tone that said now was one of those times where he was going to be less than sociable.

"Ever seen it? The hound?" You heard John ask behind you, and you started to listen again.

"Me? No" The man replied as you edged closer, "Fletcher has. He runs the walks, the monster walks. For the tourists, you know?"

You followed the man's gaze, to the younger guy in the ratty clothes standing outside the front door on his phone.

_Question him._

 Catching his eyes briefly, you curled a lock of hair around your finger, and gave him your best winning smile. He seemed startled for a few seconds, but grinned back shyly. You arched a brow, and gestured to the empty table and chairs beside you. He pointed at his phone before making a sad face. Forcing yourself to laugh breathily in the most convincing manner you could, you looked at him pleading.

 _One minute_ , he mouthed, before turning to stride away.

You raised your gaze to meet Sherlock's inquisitive eyes.

"Was trying to get him to come over here" You explained, pulling out a seat to sit down, "Seems like he'll be back in a few"

"I don't have a few" Sherlock growled, before striding out after him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Mind if I join you?" Sherlock asked.

"I was actually just about to-" The boy called Fletcher began to turn to gesture towards you, but stopped when he saw you appear ruefully behind Sherlock.

He looked at you, then back at Sherlock, and his mouth dropped down as he hastily started to explain.

"Look, I'm sorry. I had no idea-"

"Save it, not interested" Sherlock butted in, motioning for him to sit down.

Obediently, Fletcher gulped and slid into his seat. Sherlock smoothed down his dark coat before following suit. You just hovered behind the curly haired detective with impassive eyes, and waited for it all to begin.

"It's not true, is it? Nobody's seen this hound thing?" Sherlock laughed slightly, as if he couldn't believe what he was actually saying.

Fletcher eyed you both warily for a minute, before saying; "Are yous from the papers?"

"No, nothing like that" Sherlock answered, "Just curious. Have you seen it?"

"Maybe"

"Got any proof?" Sherlock arched a brow at him.

"Why would I tell you if I did?"

You could see Fletcher was getting defensive, it was time for you to play your cards.

"Don't mind my brother" You chuckled, sliding onto the bench next to Sherlock and linking your arm through his, "He was just wondering. You see, I love these sorts of things" You lied, gesturing around you and putting on that fake grin once again, "The mystery, the intrigue... Except when the stories aren't true" You frowned, "Then it just gets me down, and I really don't want to waste my time"

"Well, I guess we better go then, sorry _____" Sherlock played along and patted your hand.

You both stood up to go, and you could see the internal struggle on Fletcher's face. It was time for you to give it your best shot.

"It's too bad" You said demurely, pouting and looking at Fletcher through your lashes, "If you had proof, I would have loved to go on a tour with you. Maybe even a private one... I think it would have been more exciting, don't you?"

You turned to go, gripping Sherlock's arm tightly and hoping...

"Wait!" Fletcher called, stumbling up from the bench.

"Yes?" Sherlock said as you faced him once more.

You were aware of John moving up beside you. He shot you a curious look, and you gave him a sly wink in response.

"I've seen it. Maybe about a month ago, up at the Hollow" Fletcher told you, "It was foggy mind, couldn't make much out"

"No witnesses, I suppose?" Sherlock grumbled.

"No" Fletcher said defensively.

"Never are" Sherlock commented, tugging you away.

"Wait" Fletcher insisted, "There"

He held up a camera phone for you to see. The screen was grainy, the pixels too large, and with that fog in the way you had no clue what you were even meant to be looking at. On your right, Sherlock looked cynical, and on your left; John was unimpressed.

"That it?" Sherlock snorted disdainfully, "That's not exactly proof, is it? Sorry, _____, John. Let's go"

"That's not all" Fletcher protested, "People don't like going up there, you know? To the Hollow. Because there's a bad sorta feeling"

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. This arguing was making your headache start up again.

"Oh, _haunted_! Is that supposed to convince us?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Well, don't be stupid, nothing like that" Fletcher was starting to look really pissed off, "But I reckon there is something out there. Something from Baskerville escaped"

" _Superdog_?" Sherlock sneered, and you had to bite back a laugh.

Apparently you didn't hide the amusement on your face well enough, because Fletcher's eyes grew wider as he realized you were siding with Sherlock.

"God knows what they've been spraying on them these years. Or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust them as far as I can spit"

"Is that the best you've got?" Sherlock challenged, growing weary of the conversation.

Fletcher seemed to start, and blinked a few times before looking down at the ground to mask a grin. You could see John eyeing him curiously, and you yourself felt that he was about to reveal something big to you all.

"I had a mate once, who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishing, but he never showed up. When we went to leave, he did. He was white as a sheet. I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, Fletch' He said, 'Nothing I ever wanna see again. Terrible things.' He'd been sent to some secret army place, maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else. In the labs there, the really secret labs, he said he'd seen terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said. And dogs?" You all watched as he reached inside his scruffy hoodie and drew something out, "Dogs as big as horses"

A shiver ran over you as you stared at the hunk of plaster in his hand. John breathed in in shock, and you felt Sherlock shift uncomfortably also. On the white-grey cast, was a giant pawprint.

"Now, when would you like to go for that tour?" Fletcher gazed at you smugly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You woke up feeling disorientated, and immediately reached for your glass of water. Taking a large gulp, you glanced around the small, dusty room and tried to remember all that had happened.

You'd fallen asleep, then. You hadn't meant to.

After blowing off Fletcher with some lame 'I'll let you know what day it suits' excuse, you had trooped upstairs with John and Sherlock to their room. As they plotted what to do next, you sat on the double bed and hugged your knees to your chest, wishing you'd just get better so you could be of more use. You would have been good at all this planning. A master assassin always had to have a plan. In the hopes that you'd feel better if you lay down for a while, you told the guys you were going to lie down for an hour, and then headed into your room next door. As you lay on the bed, the comforting murmur of their familiar voices through the walls soon had you drifting off into a slumber that you had not intended to enter.

You strained your ears as you set down the glass, and stiffened.

_The comforting murmurs of their voices were gone._

Leaping from your bed, you snatched your gun off the bedside locker, and tore out of the room. Heart pounding with fear, you hammered on the door to their room, and yelled for them. A group of people coming up and down the narrow stairs stared at you, and you heard the hum of voices from the pub downstairs die down as everyone fell silent at the sound of your shouting. Stepping back a few paces, you charged forward, intending to kick the door down. Just as your foot neared it, someone grabbed your waist and dragged you back.

You struggled, but soon recognized the voice of the inn's owner, Gary, from earlier.

"Easy, miss!" He cried, "What's the matter?"

"Sherlock... My-My brother" You said, "He and John, they're not here-"

"Aye, lass" He smiled gently, rubbing your arm in a reassuring way, "They headed out a little while ago, don't know where they were off to, mind you, but they told me to let you know they said they wanted you to get your strength back before dragging you out again. Nothing to fear, nothing at all. Come on down and I'll get you a drink on the house- as long as you promise not to try break down anymore doors. eh?"

 "Sorry" You replied sheepishly, realizing right now just how very crazy you must have appeared, "I guess I just got worried"

"In these parts; Worrying is the normal. You got nothing to be sorry for. Come on now" His hand slid to your back, and you almost flinched away before remembering John telling you that both owners were gay.

Glad that he was actually being nice, and not just trying to cop a feel, you allowed him to propel you downstairs and over to a barstool. You sat down, crossing your black-jean-clad legs and leaning with one elbow on the bar counter. 

You couldn't believe they'd left you. Granted, they did it to be nice, you weren't in the best condition right now. However, you couldn't believe they'd go off without you. You had a _job_ , goddamn it. If your Director found out... By God, he'd be angry. Letting the brother of the man who basically ran the entire British secret service (and so, was _the_ boss of _your_ boss) go out alone with a potential demon hound running loose didn't actually inspire confidence in your ability as a bodyguard.

But you weren't just upset because of your job. You personally didn't want anything to happen to them either. You had come to care about them, more than you should. You knew that in your line of work, nothing was ever guaranteed. _Lives_ weren't guaranteed. You should have known better than to get so attached in the first place. And now they were out there, and even though it was daylight  and you'd only been asleep for around an hour and a half, you were still worried sick.

Feeling sicker than you had been all day, you refused the sandwich that Gary kindly pushed towards you, instead just repeated calling both missing men. The and his boyfriend didn't give up, they insisted that you were looking too pale, and had to eat. You promised you would, but before you could take a mouthful, your phone rang loudly in your pocket. Quickly yanking it out, you hit the 'Accept Call' button in such haste that you didn't even to check the caller ID.

"John?" You asked breathlessly, because out of the two of them he'd be the one most likely to call you back.

"Unfortunately not" A smooth voice said over the line, and you froze.

"Mr Holmes" You greeted as politely as you could.

"Agent _____. I was hoping to speak to my brother, he isn't returning my calls, that's nothing new, I'm afraid. However I see I may have to try John Watson again, as from your worried tone I gather you're not with them. In one way that is fortunate. Even an MI6 agent would have trouble explaining why she followed her charge as he engaged in a Level Five security breach"

"What?" You gasped.

"You heard me. Level Five security breach, _____"

"How?" You asked weakly, then clapped a hand to your forehead as realization washed over you, " _Baskerville_ "

"Exactly. May I ask why you didn't stop them?" Mycroft enquired sternly.

"I'm... I'm not well, sir. I had to lie down for an hour, in the next room. They didn't let on that they had any intention of going anywhere, I swear to you"

"Apologies will get you nowhere, Agent. If you are to ill to adequately do your job you should have called for back-up. I'll send an extra man down to you"

"Sir, that's really not necess-"

"I will decree what action needs to be taken, _____. Enjoy your evening. And find my brother soon"

Before you could speak again, the call ended. You glumly dropped your phone back in your pocket.

"Boy troubles?" Gary called from across the booth where he was cleaning glasses down the other end.

"I wish" You said dryly, and turned to look at the clock.

Hours passed as you stared at that clock, and the later it got the more you worried. When it got dark you decided you couldn't stay here anymore, something was very wrong.

Moving upstairs as quickly as you could, you grabbed your seconds handgun, a few knifes and ammunition, before strapping them to your holster. You made sure that they were hidden from view underneath your mid-thigh length black coat before stepping back out into the hall and making your way upstairs.

"Where are you going?" Gary called, looking concerned.

"I need to go look for my brother and his friend" You answered, striding over to the door.

Just before your fingers could make contact with the wood, the door infront of you swung open, and a man stepped inside. You gazed up at curly dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Relief, pure relief, flooded through you.

"Sherlock!" You cried, throwing your arms around him.

He stiffened in your embrace, and you realized you were touching him without his permission. As you stepped back in embarrassment, you glanced behind him, expecting to see another familiar figure. When you saw no one behind him, you grew concerned. The concern only strengthened when you saw the look in the consulting detectives eyes. Something was amiss. Sherlock Holmes never looked _scared_.

"Where's John?" You asked fearfully.

"John?" Sherlock replied distractedly, "Oh, John. He's... Fine. Looking after Henry King. Sent me back to tell you to stop worrying, and because my bedside manner is terrible and I'd only serve to upset Henry even more"

"What happened?" You demanded, leading him into the restaurant part of the bar to take a seat by the fire, "You know I got a call from Mycroft? I know what you did Sherlock, we're both in deep shit. I mean, how could you..." You trailed off when you stared at his face.

"What?" He snapped.

"What happened?" You repeated, though quietly this time.

Sherlock sighed, and ran an agitated, shaking hand through his hair before beginning. 

After you went to sleep, he and John went to Baskerville. They had initially knocked on your door to bring you with them, but decided to leave you when they heard you snoring. They slipped a note under the door to tell you not to worry, and you realized in your haste to leave the room you must have trampled past it unnoticed. In Baskerville they only got enough time to briefly interview Dr Stapleton, a woman who's daughter owned Bluebell the rabbit while Sherlock impersonated Mycroft. They were almost caught, but with the help of a man called Dr Frankland they managed to get out. From there they went to Henry King's huge house, where he told them about his visions of the words 'Liberty' and 'In.' 

At this point, Sherlock cast a nervous look your way, and you knew you weren't going to like what he was about to tell you next. From Henry King's house, Sherlock decided that the man needed to face his fears head on, and they went to Dewer's Hollow. You began to feel slightly panicky as he told you John got lost, but then you remembered he told you John was fine. Sherlock and Henry then found themselves alone in the Hollow.

"And so?" You asked, encouraging him to go on.

"And nothing" He replied edgily, turning to look into the fire.

"Don't give me that, Sherlock. What happened?" You insisted.

 "Nothing happened" He shifted edgily, "Nothing happened"

You stared at him, examining him. There was definitely something wrong here. And he almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself that nothing had happened, as well as you.

"Sherlock" You said, getting up from your chair to kneel beside the arm of his.

Ignoring the fact that he didn't really like human contact, you reached up, one of your hands resting on his arm, the other clasping his hand. His eyes trailed down to fasten on your thumb stroking his skin.

"What. _Happened_?" You asked, as softly as you could.

He flinched away slightly, and drew in a shuddering breath. You waited while he closed his eyes and searched for the words to reply.

"I... I saw it, _____. In the Hollow. I saw the hound"

You studied him for a minute, then decided the fear in his eyes and tone were genuine. It didn't mean the hound was real, however. He could have imagined it. You raised your hand to his forehead to check his temperature, to see if he'd picked up your illness. A high fever may explain him having hallucinations. But his forehead was cool to the touch; He didn't have a temperature. Biting your lip in indecision, you stared at him once again.

"Are you sure? You could have imagined it. Fear plays strange tricks on the mind"

"Your mind, maybe, but not mine" Sherlock nearly spat, "Mine is too advanced for that kind of mockery. Your mind, John's mind, they may do that. Not mine, never mine"

Not knowing how to reply, you sat back down on your own chair, and glanced around the room. You didn't want to make him angry again, he just drew attention to himself. Sherlock folded his arms on his chest and glared into the fire.

You were glad when eventually John came rushing into the room. 

You stood up to give him a quick hug, and berate him for leaving you. He took it in his stride, and then filled you in on the morse code he'd seen coming from a flashlight when he got separated from Sherlock and Henry in the woods, and Henry's condition later on. You offered him your chair, and went to buy them a drink from the bar, and a glass of water for yourself. The barman was kind of busy, as it was night time so a lot of men were in there chugging down pints. When you finally got served, you carefully carried the three glasses infront of you back towards where the men were, only to have John barge past you with a face like a thundercloud.

"Where are you going?" You yelped.

"For a walk. Don't worry about me" He replied curtly, before slamming the door to the inn behind him.

You sighed, and readjusted your hold on the glasses before walking back to Sherlock.

"What did you say this time?" You asked as he took a glass of water.

"Nothing he didn't have previous knowledge of before" Sherlock answered, still gazing into the flames, "I merely reminded him that I don't have friends"

You shook your head in exasperation, taking a gulp of your own water; "Sometimes you can be incredibly stupid, you know that?"

"Enlighten me with how so?" He growled.

"John's your friend, and you're his. Of course it would hurt him when you say you don't have friends. You might like to think that people don't care about you, Sherlock, but they do. A bunch of people; John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly Hooper, your brother does even though you don't like to believe it, your parents-"

"Are you going to include yourself on that list, _____?" He sneered at you.

You knew what answer he was expecting, but it wasn't the truth; "Yes" You replied honestly, and his pale eyes snapped to you in shock, "So help me God, I shouldn't have formed an emotional bond with either of you, but I did. I do care whether you live or die. And about your happiness"

"My happiness?" He repeated.

"John's your best friend" You told him, settling back in your chair, "You need to make peace with him"

" _'Best friend'_ " He sneered, "And how would I do that?" 

"Baby steps. Think of something nice you could do for him. Look around the bar at the people in here. Who knows? Something may inspire you"

You were glad when he appeared to accept your point, and twisted in his seat. His eyes travelled over the room, over people as he read them. Finally, his eyes caught on something, and he smiled slowly. Your head swivelled in the direction of what he was looking at, and fastened on a pretty woman at the bar.

"Sherlock, if you think you're going to give John a woman, no way am I helping you gift wrap-"

"She's Dr Mortimer, Henry's therapist"

"How do you know? Did Henry tell you?"

"He didn't have to, look at her hair parting" Sherlock had his phone in his hand and was typing furiously.

"Right. Of course" You replied, taking another swig of water, "And what do you plan to do with her? I thought we were thinking of ways to appease John"

"He can interview her" Sherlock's phone beeped, and he read the message.

 "So he gets her, and I get you... Doesn't seem like a fair trade" You tried to joke.

 "Actually, I'm going to bed. Goodnight, _____" Sherlock stood, pausing only long enough to snap a picture of the woman on his phone before heading towards the stairs.

You debated waiting for John to come back so you could have a word with him too, but then figured he might be a bit preoccupied with Dr Mortimer. Your head was beginning to hurt again as well. Maybe in the morning you should head to the chemist and pick up some more supplies.  For now, you'd go to bed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Morning!" Sherlock yelled, bursting into Henry's house, "How are you feeling?"

You followed behind, yawning slightly with your hands in your pockets. It was far too early for Sherlock to be so exuberant. The consulting detective hand his hands on Henry's shoulders and was studying him excitedly. Henry, however, looked like crap. He had dark rings under his eyes, and was almost as pale as you had been when in the throes of sickness.

"I didn't sleep very well" He groaned the obvious.

"Well, that's a shame, shall I make you some coffee? Oh look, you've got damp" Sherlock replied nonsensically. 

He abruptly let go of Henry and strode into the kitchen. You went to follow, only to pause briefly by the befuddled owner of the house, and offer him your hand.

"Mr King, I'm _____ _______. We met in 221B Baker Street" You smiled kindly.

"Oh, yes" He said, realization dawning on his face a few minutes later, "I remember you. Are you another partner?"

You could see he was confused by your role, so you decided to be as honest as you could be; "More of a live-in bodyguard"

He looked you up and down, and you knew that he thought you didn't look very threatening. It was a good thing too, made your job a lot easier when you didn't look like a highly trained lethal operative. Instead of trying to convince him, you just motioned after Sherlock.

"Shall we?"

"Oh, of-of course" He stuttered, and scurried off after the consulting detective.

He was in the kitchen, making coffee like he said. It was strange, Sherlock never made anything for himself if he could avoid it, and especially not for other people. You leaned in the doorway, and allowed he and Henry to talk without interruption.

"Listen, about last night" Henry was saying, "Why did you say you hadn't seen anything? I mean I only say saw the hound for a minute-"

"Hound" Sherlock said.

"What?"

"Why do you call it a hound? Why a 'hound'?"

"Why? What do you mea-?"

"It's odd, isn't it? Strange choice of words. archaic. So I took the case. 'Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.' Why say hound?"

"I don't know I-" Henry moaned.

"Let's skip the coffee. _____, come" Sherlock called, exiting the room.

You rolled your eyes, and quickly glanced at Henry.

"Don't worry, he never makes sense most of the time anyway" You smiled in farewell, and followed Sherlock from the house.

You hurried to catch up with him as he strode down the lane with his coat flapping behind him.

"You know" You said when you drew level with him, "'Hound' could just be the way he refers to a dog. He seems well-off, and sometimes rich people insist on using a different vocabulary from the rest of us"

"Hmmm, maybe" Sherlock conceded, "But I don't think that's the case"

He stopped in his tracks then, looking away from you. 

John was sitting in the graveyard, head down, twisting something in his hands. He looked lonely, and you could see Sherlock wanted to go over to him and talk.

"Go on then" You said encouragingly, pushing him forwards slightly.

It was like reassuring a child.

You trailed behind Sherlock as he made his way into the graveyard, keeping enough distance to give them some privacy, but close enough to survey the surrounding area.

John saw Sherlock approaching, and shoved something back into his pockets. You could see by Sherlock's stance that he was as nervous as his friend. It really was like watching two small children try to make up. You tried not to laugh at that, but then figured even if you did they'd have a hard time hearing you. You couldn't make out what they were saying, so they wouldn't be able to hear you. John began to walk away, and Sherlock followed him. You traced their steps so you wouldn't lose them, but still kept far enough away so as not to overhear anything. If Sherlock thought you were listening he may grow angry and awkward again. They passed the church, and you wondered if John was going to keep heading away from Sherlock until he ran out of land to walk on. Finally, Sherlock grabbed John's arm, and got him to face him.

You could hear the murmur of their voices, and you thought they may be okay then. But then John began to continue away from Sherlock and you let out a groan. Could you just knock both of their stubborn heads together?

"John? _John_!" Sherlock was yelling, chasing after him, "You are _amazing_! You are _fantastic_!"

They were getting too far away, so you took off at a run to catch up with them. Figuring at last that it was okay for you to join them, you slid to a stop as they stepped out onto the road.

"Cheers- What?" John was saying.

"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others" Sherlock continued.

"Weren't you saying sorry to him?" You asked, aghast.

"Yes, don't spoil it. What have I done that's so bloody stimulating?" John asked.

Sherlock turned to hold up a notebook to you both. The word 'HOUND' was written on it in large capitals.

"What if it's not a word, what if it's individual letter?" Sherlock pointed out, scribbling in the notebook once again.

You glanced around to see if anyone was listening. For some reason, you had a prickly feeling at the back of your neck. 

You were being watched.

Your hand slid down to the holster on your belt, and you turned to peer around you. Your eyes were drawn into the darkness of the inn. A man with sunglasses on was watching you. A _familiar_ man with...

"An acronym?" John questioned as Sherlock held up the notebook that now read 'H.O.U.N.D.'

"Guys" You breathed, drawing their attention.

You pointed a finger at the man. Sherlock froze, before storming into the inn with a shout of; "What the hell are you doing here!?"

"Oh, nice to see you too" Greg Lestrade replied, "I'm on a holiday, would you believe?"

"No, I wouldn't" Sherlock snapped.

"Hallo John, _____" Greg smiled, ignoring Sherlock and removing the sunglasses from his face.

"Greg" John greeted, while you just grinned.

"Heard you were in the area, wanted to see what you were up to" Greg said calmly, "You after this hound from hell like on the telly?"

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?" Sherlock insisted.

Your eyes narrowed as you studied Greg, recalling the phone conversation that you had had with Mycroft last night.

"I told you I'm on a holiday-"

"You're as brown as a nut, you're clearly just back from your holidays" Sherlock growled.

"Maybe I fancied another one" Greg retorted.

"I know why he's here" You interrupted.

"This is Mycroft, isn't it?" Sherlock looked at you.

"Yes. He called me last night when you two skipped out. Said if I wasn't able to do my job he'd send someone else to help look after you" You informed them, "I thought he may have meant another agent, but seems like he didn't"

"Of course" Sherlock yelled, "One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to spy on me and my bodyguard incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself 'Greg'?"

"What?" You snorted in confusion.

"That's his _name_ " John pointed out.

"Is it?" Sherlock looked shocked.

"Yes" Greg spat, "If you'd ever bothered to find out. Look, I'm not your handler, I don't just do what your brother tells me"

You laid a reassuring hand on the detectives arm. You liked Greg Lestrade, he was a nice guy. You didn't like to see him upset.

"Actually" John said slowly, "You could be just the man we're looking for. I haven't been idle, Sherlock. I think I found something... Here" John began to unfold a crumpled piece of paper, "Didn't know if it was relevant, but it's beginning to look like it might be. That was an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant. Maybe a nice, scary inspector from Scotland Yard could put in a few calls? He might come in very handy"

 

 

* * *

 

 

So after interrogating the owners of the inn about the meat, and learning about the large dog they had kept in the woods, the boys were off to Baskerville once again.

Except, this time, you were in tow. 

After Mycroft had granted you permission to go, you knew you had nothing to fear, but you'd never really liked military bases. The places were strict, and formal, and they brought back a lot of memories. You had your two guns strapped to your belt, knives strapped to the underside of your forearms, and your MI6 badge in your pocket. You knew you were going a bit all out, but if Sherlock decided to infuriate any soldiers, you had to be prepared.

"I need to see Major Barrymore as soon as we get inside" Sherlock said to John quietly, "_____ will have to come with me as my guard, and that means you'll have to start the search for the hound"

"Alright, okay"

"Go to the labs, Stapleton's first. It could be dangerous"

You flinched slightly at the words, and hastily reached down to your side to pull free a gun.

"Here" You called softly, moving it towards him and keeping an eye on the soldiers milling around so they couldn't see, "Take it"

He thanked you, and put it into his pocket just as the gates infront of you opened. The jeep was waved forward, and Sherlock drove in. After the car was parked, and you all climbed out, a young officer led you into the building and down to find Major Barrymore.

The man radiated hatred. It was obvious to you as soon as you saw him. You moved closer to Sherlock as your eyes fastened on him.

"Major Barrymore, a pleasure to see you again" Sherlock offered a hand which the Major didn't shake.

"Why are you back? And I see you've brought your girlfriend for the tour this time. This ain't no zoo, sweetie" He spat at you.

"I was hoping to have a look around-" Sherlock started.

"Oh, you know I'd love to?" The Major snarled, "I'd love to give you unlimited access to this place. Why not?"

"It's a simple enough request, Major"

"Simple request? I've never heard of anything so bizarre" The man replied.

He'd also obviously never heard of dental hygiene, by the way you could smell his breath when standing beside Sherlock, but you didn't mention that.

"You are to give me 24 hours, it's what I've-Negotiated"

"And not a second more. I may have to comply with this order, but I don't have to like it. I don't know what you expect to find here, anyway"

You couldn't take this guy's rudeness anymore.

"Neither do I, but if it's some breath-mints you can trust that you'll be first to know" You snapped icily, before grabbing Sherlock and dragging him from the room before the Major could get worked up enough to throw a chair at you or something. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"This isn't right" You said worriedly, watching as John scurried around the room, dropping your gun in his haste.

"He'll be fine, _____. He's imagining it all" Was Sherlock's reply as he hit another button and covered the speaker on his phone so that John couldn't hear you talking.

Sherlock, he's _petrified_!" You exclaimed, staring at the monitor screen.

"He'll have a good laugh about it when it's over and done" Sherlock replied, feet on the desk infront of him as he caused a fake growl to sound in the room where John was in.

"No, he won't!" You argued, lunging for the door and trying to open it.

It was stuck, and didn't move an inch.

" _Sherlock_ " You implored.

He sighed, "Alright then. Let's go get him. At least we now know it's the gas that causes the hallucinations"

He hit another button, and the doors to the control room slid open. Not wasting any time, you barrelled down the hallway to find John.

Throwing open the door to the room, you flew towards the cage you last saw him climb into. Sherlock, despite his nonchalant demeanour, must have been feeling at least slightly concerned about his friend, because he was hot on your heels. Your foot hit something, and you glanced down to see your gun that John had borrowed lying discarded on the ground. You didn't pause to pick it up, just made straight for the cage.

"Are you alright? Are you alright?"Sherlock yelled as you ripped back the fabric covering it and unlocked the cage.

"Christ... ______... Sherlock... It was here. I swear it was here. It must be, it must be... But, but did you see it? You must have" John stammered, sounding more and more manic by the second.

You went to tell him it hadn't been real, but Sherlock was squeezing your arm told you to shut up. You glared at him, but he narrowed his eyes, an unspoken reminder of your earlier promise to say nothing.

"You're alright, it's okay now" Sherlock comforted as you pulled John into a hug.

"No it's NOT!" John roared, breaking away from you and staggering off, "I saw it, I was wrong!"

"Well, let's not jump to conclusions" Sherlock shrugged as you knelt to pick up your gun.

"What?" John gasped.

"What did you see?" Sherlock continued.

"I told you, I saw the hound"

"Huge, red eyes, glowing?"

"Yes" 

"No" Sherlock half-smirked.

"What?" John scowled, still breathing heavily.

"I made the bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged, we have all been drugged. Except possibly you, _____, but I'd say you have been as well. John, can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk"

"Come on then, it's time to slay this ghost"

"Finally" You sighed, hands falling to your guns.

The  three of you, Sherlock in the lead, made your way to Dr Stapleton's office. Sherlock threw the doors open, and you were met with the sight of Stapleton clutching a rabbit on a metal table.

"Oh, back again? What's on your mind this time?"

"Murder, Dr Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder"

He hit the light switch, and it went dark. The only source of light in the room was the glowing green rabbit in her hands.

"Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell, or shall I?" Sherlock smiled, arms behind his back.

Stapleton bit the inside of her cheek, and averted her eyes. You knew there was no doubt that she was thinking of her daughter's reaction if she found out her mother had lied to her. It couldn't have been good, because she looked up and said; "Okay, what do you want?"

"Can I borrow your microscope?" Sherlock asked.

The next few hours were spent in complete and utter boredom as Sherlock examined and re-examined various items. You sat on the floor in the corner of the room, away from the others. In all the excitement you had forgotten about feeling sick, and now that you had time to think you realized that you felt much better. Hmm, seems like a good murder-mystery was all that you needed to kick a virus in the ass. You sniggered at that thought, but quietened down. Sherlock didn't like noise when he was thinking, and the sooner you got out of here, the better. You'd kill for a burger right about now.

A loud yell interrupted you as Sherlock threw the slide against a wall; "There's nothing there!"

"What were you expecting to find" Stapleton cried as you scrambled to your feet, ready to intervene if necessary.

"A drug, of course. It has to be a drug" Sherlock explained, pacing like a caged animal, "A hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There's no trace of anything in the sugar"

"Sugar?" John asked as you rose to your feet, groaning as your bones creaked.

Sherlock began to explain; "Yes, sugar. It's the process of elimination. I saw the hound, saw it as my imagination expected me to see it; A genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn't believe the evidence of my own eyes so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight – he saw it too but you didn’t, John. You didn’t see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: you don’t take sugar in your coffee. I couldn't use ______ to test my hypothesis on. She's barely eaten anything since she's been here due to her illness, and I didn't want to risk the drug making her symptoms worse"

"I see, so..." John began.

"I took it from Henry’s kitchen – his sugar. It's perfectly alright" Sherlock growled, glaring down at the microscope.

"But maybe it’s not a drug" You said, moving forward towards them all.

"No, it  _has_  to be a drug... But how did it get into our systems.  _How?"_ Sherlock had his eyes closed in frustration, and his movements were curt and angry.

You watched as his head started to rise slowly, as if following an invisible train of thought.

"There has to be something ... Something ... Ah, something... Something buried deep" His pale eyes abruptly flew open, and he spun to point at Stapleton, "Get out"

"What?" She gasped.

"Get out, I need to go to my mind palace"

Beside you, John seemed to sag on his seat with an _'For God's sake, not again'_   look on his face.

"Your what?" Stapleton pressed.

But  _S_ herlock had already turned his head away again and was staring ahead of himself. John got off his stool and picked up his jacket. He motioned for you to follow and spoke as he went to leave:

"He’s not gonna be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go"

You made to follow him and Stapleton, but Sherlock's voice stopped you.

"Not you, ______"

John shot you a surprised look, and you stopped in your tracks, feeling an equal amount of shock.

"You want me to stay?" You were bemused.

"Do I have to say it again. Yes, I want you to stay. John, escort Dr Stapleton out, if you may"

John raised a brow at you, as if to say; _Are you sure you want to stay?_

You took a deep breath, and nodded, flicking your fingers to shoo him from the room. Giving Sherlock one final, searching look, John left the room with Stapleton behind him. You faced Sherlock, but he had his eyes closed. His hands were moving, flickering through the  air like he was building a puzzle. You wondered if he was going to speak to you, but he stayed quiet, his mouth moving silently. His eyes were open, but unseeing, as he worked through things you couldn't even begin to comprehend. You silently lifted a stool to a few metres slightly to his left, and sat there watching him without saying a word. His eyes closed once again, but his hands were still moving rapidly. It was strange to say the least, you were burning with curiosity to ask what was going on, and mostly why he had wanted you to stay. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he jolted three times as if he was being repeatedly struck by lightning. 

"Sherlock?" You asked worriedly, before you could stop yourself.

He didn't answer, just slumped back into his seatfor a moment, then stood up and headed out of the lab, beckoning for you to come after him.

"What's happening? Did you figure it out?" You said breathlessly as you rushed down the hall at his side.

"Almost, ______. We just need to get a look at some classified files. I don't suppose you would have clearance?"

"I would have, but as soon as I started working with you they restricted my access. They were afraid you'd guess my password or something and take a look at classified information, compromising national security. Silly of them, seeing as you've already done that"

"Well then, looks like we'll need Major Barrymore"

"He won't help us" You reminded him.

"He doesn't have to" The consulting detective shot you a boyish grin, "Ah, John and Dr Stapleton are just through that door"

"Wait" You ordered, grabbing his coat and pulling him to a stop, "Why did you ask that I stay when you went to your Mind Palace?"

Sherlock's eyes met yours, and you watched as he worried his bottom lip for a few seconds, before finally admitting; "I have no idea. I guess I find your presence somewhat comforting"

"Oh" You replied, not really knowing what to make of that.

It seemed like he didn't either, as he awkwardly shifted on the balls of his feet for a few seconds before spinning and striding away.

"Come on, ______" He called over his shoulder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"H.O.U.N.D" Dr Stapleton said, her voice thick with horror, "

_Paranoia._

__Severe frontal lobe damage._ _

__Blood-brain._ _

___Gross cranial trauma._ _ _

____Dangerous acceleration._ _ _ _

_____Multiple homicide._ _ _ _ _

"Jesus" John whispered.

Sherlock, who was still scanning the information that flowed across the screen, began to read; "Project H.O.U.N.D: a new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus; but they shut it down and hid it away in 1986"

"Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on" Stapleton reasoned.

"And what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them insane – made them almost uncontrollably aggressive" Sherlock added.

"So someone has started this all up again?" You asked angrily, your mind flashing back to look of pure fear on Henry King's face as anger seethed through you.

"Attempting to refine it, perhaps, for the last twenty years" Sherlock said grimly.

"Who?" Stapleton questioned as you put one hand on Sherlock's shoulder and leaned over him in order to get a better look at the screen.

"Those names mean anything to you?" John enquired, nodding at the names of the project leaders.

"No, not a thing" Stapleton told you, and you could see she was being honest.

"Five principal scientists, twenty years ago" Sherlock sighed, bringing up another photograph.

He then started zooming in on individuals within it. The closer footage shows that they were all sporting identical sweatshirts. Looming out of a diamond pattern in the centre of the sweatshirts is a large snarling dog’s head and the legend “H.O.U.N.D.” is printed underneath. There was some smaller text underneath but you can't exactly see what it's saying. Sherlock continued to zoom in and out of the photo to look more closely at the faces, you still leaning over his shoulder.

"Maybe our friend’s somewhere in the back of the picture – someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986..." He breathed.

Suddenly, he stopped, and then you looked down just in time to catch him roll his eyes.

"Maybe somebody who says ' _cell phone'_ because of time spent in America. You remember, John?" He moved to face John, and you had to lean back a little to let them see eachother.

"Mmm-hmm" John agreed, gazing at the screen.

"He gave us his number in case we needed him" Sherlock continued.

"Who?" You asked bewildered.

You had missed out on so freaking much when you were asleep.

"Oh my God. Bob Frankland. But Bob doesn't even work on... I mean, he’s a virologist. This was  _chemical_  warfare" Stapleton started.

"That guy?" You pointed at the one they all appeared to be staring at, and Sherlock nodded in confirmation.

"It’s where he started, though ... And he’s never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work. Nice of him to give us his number. Let’s arrange a little meeting" He reached into his coat pocket to take out a card and walked away from the computer. John moved forward to take his place at your side, and looked at the final image. It was a very tight close-up of one of the sweatshirts. Stitched below the word 'H.O.U.N.D.'  is the name of the American town and state where the project was based: “Liberty, In”.

"I can't believe they actually made fan-clothing for this project. Nothing screams 'super classified' like walking down the street with the name and location of a homicidal chemical weaponry project imprinted on your freaking t-shirt" You said sarcastically.

John snorted beside you, and you knew he wanted to laugh at your remark, but felt uncomfortable to do so. Then his phone began to ring. He dug it out of his pocket, and frowned at the number on the screen.

"Not recognize it?" You asked.

"Nope" He said, but answered it anyway, "Hello?"

You watched him as he paced away slowly.

"Who is this?" He asked again.

You couldn't hear the answer, but John whirled around to Sherlock.

"It's Louise Mortimer" He said.

"Henry's therapist?" You questioned.

"Louise, what's wrong?" John repeated, and you got the feeling that something was very, _very_ off.

John listened intently, and you could see fear all over his features.

"What?" He gasped, turning away again.

"Sherlock" You breathed uncertainly, stepping towards the detective. 

"Where- Where are you?" John said next.

Louise said something in reply, and John seemed to calm down ever so slightly, spinning to face you again.

"Stay there. We’ll get someone to you, okay?" He lowered his phone and started to text.

"Henry?" You and Sherlock asked together.

"He's attacked her" John replied.

"Is she okay?" You enquired concernedly.

"She's alright"

"Gone?" Sherlock spoke next, and you knew he was talking about Henry.

"Mmm" John replied.

"There's only one place he'll go" You reasoned, feeling for your guns.

"Yes, back to where it all started" Sherlock agreed, then pulled out his phone and hit a button, "Lestrade" He greeted, holding it to his ear, "Get to the Hollow. ... Dewer’s Hollow, now. And bring a gun"

 

 

* * *

 

 

The jeep accelerated over the rocky, bumpy terrain. You were jolted in your seat, but your grip on the hold above your head steadied you. One gun was already in your hand, though the safety on. You were ready to use it at any second. You leaned through the space between the front seats where Sherlock and John sat to peer into the night ahead of you, straining to see anything. It was so dark out that you could barely see what was around you in the car, let alone outside.

Adrenaline, pure and exhilarating, pounded through your veins. It was the same feeling you got every time you were sent out on a mission; A mix of fear and excitement. You knew anything could happen, nothing was guaranteed. 

The car skidded to a halt, and John leapt out with a flashlight. You were right on his tail, gun held at the ready to survey the area around you. 

"Come on" Sherlock yelled, racing ahead of you and John through the trees.

You tore after him, keeping right behind his heels, so you could defend them both if necessary. After almost two months you hadn't had to save Sherlock from a threat made on his life, as there were none. Now it was all changing. Danger was all around and you'd be able to see just how effective you were. Frankland was out here somewhere, you knew that. He was here to finish what he'd started so long ago, and now Sherlock, John and Greg were here he'd attempt to kill them too. And you'd be damned to the furthest regions of hell before you let that happen.

"This way!" Sherlock shouted as he zig-zagged to the left.

You followed obediently, leaping a fallen log with ease. This wasn't the first time you'd run through the woods with your heart pounding in your chest. The trees groaned and shuddered all around you, making the situation even more desperate and eerie.

You were so distracted by trying to keep an eye on both Sherlock and John, that you didn't see the sudden drop infront of you to the Hollow until the very last second. Skidding to a stop at the very edge, you felt your arms wind-milling in the air as you tilted over the side. A hand grabbed your collar and you were roughly yanked back. In the moonlight your eyes twisted rapidly to face your saviour. Sherlock held your gaze for less than a second, before abruptly letting you go, and continuing to make his way hastily down into the Hollow. Shaking your head at your stupidity, you followed hot on his tail, because as you nearly fell, you saw Henry standing below with his gun to his head.

"No, Henry, no! No!" Sherlock roared as the hysterical man put the gun in his mouth.

He and John scrambled down the hill with you at their heels, wielding their torches infront of them.

"Get _back_. Get – _Get away from me!_ " Henry shouted.

Henry stumbled backwards, waving his pistol vaguely in their direction. Though you had never wanted to pull the trigger less in your life, you secretly clicked the safety off your gun as you held it at your side. If he went for Sherlock or John you knew what you had to do.

"Easy, Henry. Easy. Just relax" John tried to reassure him.

You stayed silent and wondered desperately if you would be able to disarm him in time if you went for the gun.

"I know what I am. I know what I tried to do!"Henry insisted, tears in his eyes.

"Henry, it wasn't you. It's not your fault" You attempted.

"Just put the gun down. It’s okay" John added soothingly.

"No, no, I know what I _am!_ " Henry howled.

Sherlock stepped forward, hands held infront of him placatingly; " Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry. It’s all been explained to you, hasn't it – explained  _very_ carefully"

"What?" Henry asked in a dead voice, though he still had the gun pointed at Sherlock.

"Someone needed to keep you quiet; Needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you’d both clung on to, because you had started to remember" Sherlock told him, edging forward, "Remember now, Henry. You've got to remember what happened here when you were a little boy"

Henry's arm wavered, dropping down as he spoke; "I thought it had got my dad.. The hound. I thought..." His arm rose again as frustration overwhelmed him as he struggled to understand.

You flinched in shock as he lost control and let out a scream of anguish; "Oh Je... oh Jesus, I don’t – I _don’t know any more!_ " _  
_

Sobbing, he bent forward and aimed the muzzle into his mouth again. You moved forward as Sherlock and John did, yelling reassurances.

"Henry, remember. 'Liberty In.' Two words; two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago" Sherlock told him urgently.

"Please, Henry" You begged.

At Sherlock's words, Henry froze. He blinked owlishly a few times, before straightening up as Sherlock began talking.

"You’d started to piece things together, remember what  _really_  happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry? Not a monster. A _man_."

Henry stared at Sherlock, frozen. You hardly dared to breathe, afraid any slight noise would break his rapture and send him spiralling back into madness. Seconds passed, and you shifted silently, stretching your sweaty fingers to gain a better grip on the handle of your gun.

"You couldn't cope. You were just a child, so you rationalised it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped; Driven out of your mind so that no one would believe a word that you said" Sherlock continued, still edging closer with you and John.

Henry just stayed completely frozen,

"Sherlock!" A familiar voice called from the top of the Hollow.

You swung around to see Greg begin to descend down to you. You gave him a shaky smile, and jogged towards him to greet him as John took the gun from Henry's shaking fingers.

"But we saw it: the hound, last night. We s... We, we, we  _did_ , we saw..." Henry stuttered behind you.

You reached a hand up to help the detective inspector down the final rock when Sherlock replied; "Yeah, but there  _was_  a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it – saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus; that’s how it works. But there never was any monster"

A sudden baying behind you contradicted Sherlock's words, and you felt your blood run cold. Along with everyone else, your head snapped up and John and Greg aimed their flashlights upwards to the top of the Hollow. You could see something up there, prowling low on the ground, snarling and snapping.

"Oh my God" You breathed in horror, hand clutching Greg's arm as white fog swirled around your body.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

You tore your terrified gaze towards Henry as he began to wail in terror, breaking down and collapsing to the ground. Ignoring your fear of the huge animal above, you pushed yourself away from Lestrade, and stumbled over to crouch over Henry. You draped a protective arm over his shoulders and pulled him into your body, speaking as calmly as you could to him even though your voice was trembling. Your eyes returned to the dog, illuminated by the other's flashlights. A glowing red eye glared at you, filled with nothing but hatred.

"Are you seeing this?" John asked the white-faced Greg, "Right, he is not drugged, Sherlock. So what's that? What is it!?"

"______? Do you see it too?" Sherlock turned to you desperately, and you can see how his entire hypothesis was hinged on your answer.

"Yes" You groaned, wishing you could have answered differently.

"All right! It’s still here! But it’s just a dog, Henry! It’s nothing more than an ordinary dog!" He yelled, twisting around wildly.

You shuddered as the hound threw it's head into the air and let out a long, mournful howl.

"God!" Greg cried, staggering backwards.

The animal growled, beginning to descend, and you let go of Henry. The man whimpered in fear, but you hardened your heart and moved away. You slid infront of Sherlock and John, dry leaves crunching under your boots.

"No! It's not you! You're not here!" Sherlock shouted behind you, and you whirled to see him grappling with a tall figure.

You started forward to help, but stopped as Sherlock appeared to have it under control.

"Greg. Watch him" You snapped, as Sherlock let out a cry.

"The fog... It’s the fog! The drug: it’s in the fog! Aerosol dispersal! That’s what it said in those records. Project H.O.U.N.D, it’s the fog! A chemical minefield!"

You yanked your t-shirt up to cover your nose at his words, still holding your gun infront of you at the snarling hound. Beside you Greg threw his arm across his face, trying to stop himself from inhaling too much of the fog.

"For God’s sake, kill it! Kill it!" Frankland shouted, as the giant dog leapt forward.

Straight for John.

Shoving the doctor to the side, you knocked him out of danger's path as Greg's bullets flew past you and go over the dog's head. Unfortunately, you took his place. John yelled as he hit the ground roughly, and you before you could raise your gun properly, the hound landed on you and knocked you to the forest floor. It was on you, paws digging into your skin. You felt blood well up and spill over these wounds as you struggled desperately, trying to get your gun up. It's fangs snapped together millimetres from your neck, and you had the sudden feeling that you were staring your death in the face. Still, you wouldn't back down without a fight.

Dropping your gun, you pressed a hand against the dog to keep it from tearing your throat out, and your other one fished in your sleeve. Getting your knees under the dog, you managed to throw it off you enough to draw a knife out. You dropped your knees, and the dog's gaping maw came right back down for you. It lunged with such force that when it landed on your ready dagger the blade bit through it's neck with unbelievable ease. Hot blood gushed into your face, and you gasped in disgust, letting out a dismayed moan. 

The weight of the dog's body on you shifted, and for a second you had the sudden fear that it was going to go for you again. Then you realized it was John and Greg dragging it off you. 

"Are you alright!?" Greg demanded as he hauled you to your feet.

"Peachy" You muttered, swaying a little, "Thanks for the help, boys"

"By the time we realized what was happening, you'd already killed it" John protested.

You held onto his jacket for support and glanced down at the hound. In the torchlight, it appeared to be what it was; An ordinary, if slightly large, dog. Sherlock appeared by your side the next second, looking at the hound.

"Henry, look" He ordered, drawing the shaking man over with him.

"No" Henry moaned.

"Look!" Sherlock insisted firmly, and when he was sure Henry was doing as obeyed he twisted to you.

"You're okay?" He asked in a slightly shaken voice.

You started in surprise as one of his hands raised to cup your face.

"Yes" You breathed as his thumb carefully stroked your cheek.

A shriek from Henry lured your attention back to the present situation.

"It’s just ... You _bastard_!" Henry screamed in pure rage, spinning away from the body and lunging for Frankland.

John rushed away from you, and your legs gave out and you sunk to the ground. You closed your eyes briefly as dizziness overcame you. That damned fog was still affecting you.

"You bastard! Twenty years! Twenty years of my life making no sense! Why didn't you just kill me!?" He bundled Frankland to the ground, roaring into his face.

You watched as the others finally got him to his feet, and Sherlock started to explain; "Because dead men get listened to. He needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father, and he had the means right at his feet; A chemical minefield! Pressure pads in the ground dosing you up every time that you came back here. Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once"

He spun in a slow circle laughing; "Oh, this case, Henry! Thank you. It’s been brilliant"

"We really need to work on your definition of the word 'fun'" You grumbled, clambering to your feet wearily.

"Sherlock..." John warned.

"What?"

"Timing" John hissed.

"Not good?" Sherlock looked at you for an answer.

"No, no, it’s... It’s okay. It’s fine, because this means... This means that my dad was  _right"_  Henry took a few shaky steps toward Frankland, you and John shadowing him incase he tried to attack him again, "He found something out, didn't he? And that’s why you’d killed him, because he was  _right_ , and he’d found you right in the middle of an experiment"

Frankland rose warily to his feet, but before he could speak there was another snarl as the dog rose to it's feet once again, your knife still in it's maw. John stepped forward, firing his gun. There was a whimper and it fell once again. Something knocked into your elbow, and you spun to see Frankland using the distraction to take off into the forest.

"Frankland!" Sherlock roared as you sped off after him.

 _For an older fellow, he's rather spry,_ You thought as you chased after him.

You were closing in, your fingers just grasping the back of his jacket, when you tripped over a root and staggered. You managed to stay upright, but Frankland drew ahead of you once more as you regained your balance.

" _Frankland!_ " Sherlock yelled again.

The older man jumped over a low lying tree branch, and a few seconds later you followed, planting one foot on it and vaulting into the air. Sherlock was right behind was, and the others right behind him.

"It’s no use, Frankland!"

You could barely see as the trees keep obscuring your vision, but you could just about make out what happened next.

Reaching the barbed wire fence, the scientist didn't pause before leaping over. His feet tangled briefly within the sharp wire and he collapsed to the ground on the other side. You saw the top of his head as he rose again, and then he disappeared from your sight as he continued into the field. Suddenly, you could see him up ahead, John and Sherlock's flashlights dancing upon his silhouette.

"There!" You yelled, doubling your speed.

An explosion ripped through the air, so close you could feel the heat off it. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, and the world around you blurred as someone swung your body behind theirs to shelter you from the blast. After a few seconds those arms released you, and you gazed up at Sherlock. He stared back down at you, pale blue eyes locked with yours, and you were so close you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against yours. 

"You know, I wasn't close enough to be hurt" You reminded him softly.

He chuckled slightly, then responded; "Chivalry isn't completely dead"

"Dr Frankland is" You replied, and he groaned.

"Really? _That's_ the joke you decide to make?"

"Life threatening situations always bring out my sense of humour. It may be morbid, but it keeps me somewhat sane"

"Christ Almighty... When you two are done flirting, or whatever the hell you're even doing... I'd like to go get a few good strong drinks" Greg butted in, sliding down to sit against the tree next to Henry.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You were sitting on the picnic bench outside Cross Key's Inn with John.  The two of you are just talking when two English breakfasts are plonked down infront of you.

"Mmm, thanks, Billy" John said, and you just grunted.

With your favourite black jacket covered in the blood of the dog that they claimed they had put down, and a rabies shot in the arm and a tetnus shot injected into your ass, you were not exactly in the mood to be civil.

Sherlock reappeared beside you, precariously balancing three mugs of coffee in his hands. He set them down in the centre of the table, and then handed them to you and John individually, taking his own at the end.

"So they didn't have it put down, then, the dog?" Sherlock said

"Obviously. Suppose they just couldn't bring themselves to do it" John answered, tucking into his food.

"I see" Sherlock sipped his coffee.

"No, you don't" You and John chorused, and then shared a grin.

"No, I don’t. Sentiment?" Sherlock grinned.

"Sentiment" You  agreed.

"Oh"

Sherlock took a seat next to John, his back facing you.

"Listen: what happened to me in the lab?" John asked suddenly.

Sherlock stared at him for a second, then caught your eye. You arched a brow at him to tell him non-verbally that he was on his own, and resumed eating.

"Do you want some sauce with that?" Sherlock twisted away, grabbing a packet to avoid answering the question.

"I mean, I hadn't been to the Hollow, so how come I heard those things in there? Fear and stimulus, you said" John continued, unaware of his friend's internal struggle.

Sherlock turned back around to dump the container of packets of the table and started rustling through them; "You must have been dosed with it elsewhere, when you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes, pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve; and they were carrying the gas, so... Um, ketchup, was it, or brown..?"

"Hang on: you thought it was in the sugar. You were  _convinced_  it was in the sugar" John pointed out.

You gazed at Sherlock trying to keep a neutral face as you chewed your toast.

"Better get going, actually. There’s a train that leaves in half an hour, so if you want-" 

"Oh God. It was you.  _You_  locked me in that bloody lab"

"I had to. It was an experiment" Sherlock attempted to defend himself.

"An  _experiment!?"_ John exclaimed furiously, "I was terrified, Sherlock, I was scared to death! And you!" He pointed at you, "Were you in on this too!?"

Alarmed at being asked a question so angrily, you swallowed quickly in your haste to reply, and then promptly began to choke on your breakfast. Sherlock defended you as you wheezed, turning red in the face and thumping yourself on the chest. If you hadn't been struggling to breathe you may have thought how surprising it was that he wasn't just throwing you to the wolves ~~or should you say hounds~~  as well.

"No, John. I made her swear not to say anything beforehand, and she kept telling me it wasn't right. She was the one who convinced me to stop when I did. But that's beside the point. I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee, then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore. It was all  _totally_  scientific, laboratory conditions – well,  _literally"_

You finally stopped coughing, and gazed at them through bleary, watery eyes.

"Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one" Sherlock added.

John glared at him.

"You know what I mean" The detective said.

"But it wasn't  _in_  the sugar" John stated as he continued eating.

"No, well, I wasn't to know you’d already been exposed to the gas"

"So you got it wrong" 

"No" Sherlock raised his cup to his lips.

"Eh, _yes"_ You agreed with John.

"Be quiet, _____" Sherlock growled.

"Mmm. You were wrong. It wasn't in the sugar. You got it  _wrong"_ John continued grumpily.

"A bit. It won’t happen again" Sherlock relented.

"Any long-term effects?" 

John's question immediately drew your attention, for you had been dying to know the answer to this yourself. You'd never like to experience that amount of fear and again. It had been no wonder that prolonged exposure drew the test subjects into the depths of madness.

"None at all. You’ll be fine once you've excreted it. We all will" Sherlock answered.

"Ew" You wrinkled your nose and the boys chuckled.

"Think I might have taken care of that already" John joked and you all laughed once more.

Sherlock looked away, and you followed his gaze. It focused on Gary, who nodded and smiled ruefully. You felt your lips turn down in a scowl when you remembered what his damned dog had done to your arms last night. You had had to get stitches and those goddamn injections, and to top it all off, you were afraid that the wounds would scar. Sherlock deposited his mug on the table and stood up.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"Won’t be a minute. Gotta see a man about a dog" Sherlock quipped.

"I'll come too" You decided, rising to your feet.

"______, don't go on the warpath" John groaned.

"Been there, done that" You replied, rolling up your sleeves so your bandaged arms were visible. 

Sherlock waited until you were at his side, then you strode off towards Gary together. 

"Thank you" You said quietly as you neared him.

"For what?" 

"Saving me when I almost fell down the Hollow, and sheltering me from the explosion, even though it wasn't needed"

"It's no problem. I don't know where I'd be without my favourite glorified watch-dog" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally made it to the end? Hope you enjoyed it
> 
> FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is kind of a short chapter, basically because my computer is screwing up on me today and it keeps closing my tabs randomly, so this is as much work as I can get done. Hope you like it, it's Sherlock's POV (though the very first bit takes place at the end of 'The Hounds of Baskerville,' and isn't Sherlock POV), as it allows you and insight into his mind that you don't get when it's the Reader's POV. The next chapter will be reader POV, and then the one after that is Sherlock's POV, then the Reader, then Sherlock... And you get the drill, it goes on like that!
> 
> So hope you like it. I'll fix the mistakes later, I'm kinda tired now (it's eleven thirty-five at night here). Thank you for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions. it's great that you guys seem to like this :)
> 
> Keep being awesome, you hear me?

**Sherlock.**

 

_Jim Moriarty sat, eerily silent, with his eyes closed in the middle of the small, windowless and grey concrete-lined cell. His hair was slightly messed, and the light made him appear slightly sickly. In the observation room joined to it, Mycroft's eyes narrowed in mistrust and disdain as he looked through the one-way mirror at the vicious consulting criminal. The elder Holmes brother couldn't help but twist his hands nervously by his side where no one could see._

_Was this really wise?_

_Should he be doing this?_

_He couldn't help it. Even though he tried with all his might to suppress it, brotherly love was something that he was cursed with. He was not comfortable letting a maniac out onto the streets anyhow, let alone one with such a fascination for his brother. Sherlock may have thought that he could look after himself, but with Moriarty, he would need all the help he could get. Mycroft was suddenly very glad that he had _______. He may have criticised her abilities in Baskerville, but she had allowed no harm to come to his brother, and hadn't strangled him herself in her irritation. If that wasn't a sign of rationality and even-temperedness, then he didn't know what was. Hopefully, she'd prove enough to keep Moriarty and his cohorts at bay. She had been a good choice for the job, maybe even the best._

_After a few moments, Mycroft finally gathered his swirling thoughts into some semblance of order, and brushed down his suit. He opened the cell door and stepped in, surveying Moriarty with what he hoped were impassive eyes. Moriarty just said nothing, refusing to even move. Mycroft, at a loss for what else to do, left the cell again. He watched Jim for a bit more, attempting to introduce anything about the Irishman. He couldn't read anything, so he ordered one of his agents to go back into the room._

_Mycroft heard the echo of his voice ringing through the dark halls; "Alright. Let him go"_

_Rising to his feet gracefully, Jim turned, and strolled out of the cell nonchalantly._

_In the wake of his casual departure, the agent turned to survey the room around him. On almost every plain concrete panel of the walls, Jim had somehow carved a single word into the cement. In different sizes and at different angles, countless repetitions of the word cover the entire cell wall:_

SHERLOCK.

_The agent felt a small shiver of horror run through him, suddenly realising just how mad the man he let out must be. Feeling cold, he glanced around the cell one more time, eyes zeroing in on the mirror that Mycroft Holmes must have been watching from. on it's smooth surface, the words 'SHERLOCK' have been scratched in huge letters, unmissable to anyone watching from the otherside. Even though he was a highly trained government operative, the agent began to feel unnerved b his surroundings. He tried to appear unhurried as he closed the door to the room behind him, but he couldn't help the ever-increasing relief he felt the further he got from that place._

_Meanwhile, Moriarty stepped out into the day. It was grey and depressing, but wisps of sun managed to find their way through the sea of cloud above. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes once more to allow the rays to play across his face. He didn't open them when he heard the car pull up next to him. The sound of it's engine was as familiar to him as the voice that called out next._

_"Boss, hop in"_

_Moriarty opened his lids to stare at the black tinted windows of the car beside him. The nearest pane slowly lowered, and Sebastian Moran's face appeared from out behind it._

_"A welcoming committee, how nice" Moriarty grinned as Seb opened the door._

_He climbed in, his bodyguard shifting seats in order to give him his space._

_"Drive" The bodyguard ordered the chauffeur, and the car sped off once more._

_"You seem to be enjoying issuing commands" Jim remarked coldly, dangerous eyes reminding his employee of who was really in charge._

_Seb nodded respectfully, before replying; "Just trynna keep everything in ship shape for your return, sir"_

_"Good" Moriarty grinned, relaxing back into the seat, "Now, what have you got for me?"_

_Sebastian reached forward, and removed a file from the back pocket of the seat infront of him. Reaching inside, he drew out a load of stiff, clean papers all held together with a paperclip on the top left-hand corner. Moriarty took them disdainfully from his hand, and flicked through them with a look of boredom on his face._

_"And who's she?" He asked, pointing to a black and white picture of a young woman getting out of a taxi, phone clamped to her ear._

_"That" Seb grinned, "Is Sherlock Holmes' new bodyguard, courtesy of MI6. Name's ______ _________. Pretty little thing, ain't she?"_

_"MI6 are involved with Sherly now?" Jim hummed as he slid the picture out of the clip and held it closer to the light for inspection._

_"Most of my sources say they claim to have an interest with Sherlock helping them in the future and want him protected for that reason, but a few more of the higher up ones think that she was handpicked by Mycroft Holmes as security for his brother, and even she doesn't know that. As far as she knows her Director offered her the assignment freely, not under command from the elder Holmes. Probably figured the detective would give her less of a hard time if he had no reason to suspect she had been sent by him"_

_"Sherlock can be extraordinarily petty" Moriarty smiled fondly, "Anything else important I should know about her"_

_"Check out the picture on page four. Managed to get it when she was picking something off the ground" Sebastian grinned, eyes alight with ferocious excitement._

_Wondering what had his bloodthirsty bodyguard so riled up, Moriarty did as suggested._

_"Tattoo of an ebony crescent moon formed of many smaller symbols... On the left wrist. Just like they described" Seb crowed, staring at the picture in his boss' hand._

_When Moriarty didn't reply, Seb glanced up. it wasn't often that anyone or anything could catch the consulting criminal off-guard. But it was happening now,_

_"_ Her _?"  He breathed at last, "They have_ her _guarding him!?"_

_"Apparently so" Seb chuckled, "Seems like she's not as dead as our old allies were led to believe"_

_"I wonder how furious they'll be when they find out she's switched sides" Moriarty chuckled, "I wonder why she did it"_

_"Maybe some kind of life-altering epiphany" Sebastian mocked, smirking, "Pity she changed, though. She was so good at being bad"_

_Well" Moriarty smiled, gazing at the picture of her face, "Maybe you'll get to tell her about your disappointment in her obvious moral dilemmas soon enough. You may need to take her out, Seb, and soon. I won't be able to execute my plans if she's there covering and protecting Sherlock every step of the way. Reason with her first. She would be good to have on our side. But if she can't be swayed... You know what to do"_

_Sebastian grinned, leaning back on the seat and resting his head between his interlocked fingers._

_"I'm kinda hoping she doesn't agree... I'd love to see if her skills are as formidable as her reputation decrees"_

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I don't think we've been properly introduced" A soft voice said quietly behind Sherlock.

"No, I don't believe we have" He heard you reply, friendly smile in your voice, "Monsieur Crankyhead over there never lets me sit down for five minutes when we're in the the station"

Sherlock huffed and turned around to find Molly Hooper shyly shaking hands with you in the middle of the forensics lab in the station. He couldn't believe that you and Molly had never officially met, but now that he gave it some thought he figured you had never had the time as he was always dragging out to one case or another. He knew that Molly had been wondering about you, and your place in his life. He could read it in how she looked at you. Yes, she was aware you were MI6, but she was also curious in relation to your attitude towards him. Not many people teased and joked around with Sherlock Holmes with such ease.

The differences between you two woman were obvious to even the blindest of minds. Molly was insecure, timid, and mild-mannered, while you were confident, strong willed and sharp tongued. Molly held herself back, afraid of saying the wrong thing, while you said exactly what you thought with an honesty that Sherlock admired.

"Monsieur Crankyhead?" Molly asked in shock.

"Frownyface over there" You clarified, gesturing at Sherlock.

Molly peered at him from under her lashes, obviously expecting Sherlock to give some harsh retaliation. When he didn't, her eyes widened slightly and she stared back at you. You, completely unaware of why she was so shocked, just smiled benignly and continued to try have a conversation with her.

"So, Molly, what's it like to work in a morgue?" You asked, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jeans and swaggering absent-mindedly around the lab.

"It's fine. I guess" She replied timidly.

Sherlock watched in thickly veiled amusement as you picked up an empty beaker, read it's label, and then deposited it once again on the edge of the table. The very edge. Luckily, Molly managed to capture the beaker as it started to topple over the side, placing it back on the table with a sigh of relief. You didn't even notice, just continued around the lab, humming to yourself as you wandered around. Molly was now following closely at your heels, making sure that you left no destruction in the wake of your visit.

"Oi! Sherlock! ______!" A voice yelled as the double doors were thrown open.

Lestrade strode into the room, grinning at them.

"What brings you here?" He asked Sherlock, causing the detective to freeze.

"I thought you needed to come here for a case?" The full force of your attention turned on Sherlock, and you gave him a confused frown.

"Yes" Sherlock blurted, looking for some method of escape, "I just had to, um, ask Molly a few things"

You jolted in shock, and exchanged a disbelieving look with Lestrade.

"You have to... Ask someone for help" Lestrade said slowly, like he didn't believe his ears.

"Just to get another professional opinion" Sherlock agreed, hating that he'd chosen _that_ lie of all of the ones he could have picked.

Next he wondered how he was going to get rid of you long enough for Molly to show him what he needed to see. Luckily enough, Lestrade did it for him.

Turning to you, the detective inspector smiled; "The latest recruits for the police force are training today. Would you like to go and show 'em a few moves?"

The grin on you face immediately brightened dazzlingly, and you replied eagerly.

Lestrade chuckled, and put a hand on your back to usher you from the room. That was when you remembered Sherlock, and you twisted around to look at him indecisively, biting your lip in worry. Sherlock knew why you looked so concerned, and just stepped forward to give you a gentle push on the shoulder.

"Go on" He smirked, "We're in a police station. I'll be fine"

Usually he knew you would have just rejected the idea, and elected to stay at his side. Not this time, when the lure of pitting you skills against other's in a friendly environment was too strong. You gave him a little wave, and stepped forward to link your arm to Lestrade's. As the detective inspector led you from the room, Sherlock felt his smirk fade from his face. As you marched down the corridor he could still hear you nattering away delightedly, and Lestrade laughing loudly.

You and Lestrade had seemed very... Friendly. 

Did the two of you have... Feelings for eachother?

For some strange reason Sherlock found the thought a little unpleasant, and it made his stomach twist in not a nice way. He couldn't help it. He didn't think you were a good match. You were special, and Lestrade was far too mundane. Your wit, your smile, your intelligence and strength; It was all deserving of someone who was more than just the average man. Someone like... 

_No._

He shook his head, not allowing that train of thought to even start.

 _He didn't like you. That was preposterous._  

"Um, Sherlock?" Molly asked, touching his arm carefully, "Are you alright? We can do this later if you want..."

"No" Sherlock refused, almost colouring as he realized he had been staring at the door you'd just left through.

"Well, then. Come on" Molly mumbled, leading him over to a morgue slab.

There was a body underneath there, covered by a sheet. Carefully, Molly drew back the white fabric, revealing the face. A man, balding and ugly. And now dead. It was no one that Sherlock recognized, but then again he hadn't expected it to be. 

"How'd it happen?" He questioned as Molly stepped back.

"Gunshot wound to the chest" She replied, moving down the sheet for him to see, "We haven't been able to ID him yet"

"I don't think you ever will" Sherlock replied grimly, "Now, let me see it"

Molly nodded, and reached out two gloved hands to grab the dead man's eerily white left wrist. She turned it over, revealing the inside of it to the bright fluorescent lights. 

"Black crescent moon made up of smaller symbols" She stated, staring down at the tattoo, "Just what you told me to look out for"

Sherlock stared at the marking. It was an exact replica of your own tattoo.

"Do you think it's gang related?" Molly enquired, letting the man's wrist fall back to his side.

"No" Sherlock shook his head, "Something a bit different, I'm afraid"

"Like a cult?" Molly pressed, fixing the sheet so it covered the corpse once more.

"More of an organisation" Sherlock replied, feeling deeply troubled.

"Like-"

"Goodbye, Molly" He cut her off, spinning on his heel and making his way towards the door.

His coat snapped around his legs, and he kept his head bent towards the ground as he tried to figure out what was happening. There was no way that you were involved with this man's death, you hadn't left Sherlock's side in the past few months. He had no choice, he'd have to make you talk now. You could be in danger.

"Sherlock" Molly called out suddenly just as his fingers brushed the door handle, "I saw it. When she shook my hand. Her tattoo is the same as his"

Sherlock froze, not turning around. His hand was still lightly touching the door, and he found himself unable to move it. His heart began to hammer in his chest, and he felt heat in his palms as they began to sweat. Then he spun, storming back across to her so that he towered over her. She leapt back in shock, and his hands shot out to grasp her shoulders. He applied pressure, nowhere near enough to hurt her, but just enough so that all of her attention was focused solely on him. He was aware of her breathing hitch, and her pulse increasing under her skin.

"You can't tell anyone" He said urgently, staring into her eyes, "You can't. Just... Please, Molly. It might put her in danger"

He stared at her intently, letting her see the emotions swirling in his eyes.

"I... I won't" She whispered, "I promise" 

"Thank you" He breathed, closing his eyes briefly in relief.

He let go off her, and brushed down his jacket before heading from the room. He continued down the corridors, through various rooms, past Donovan and Anderson who gave him snide looks. He just ignored them. They weren't worth his time, stupid little people that they were. Eventually he found what he was searching for; The training room.

He entered just in time to see you flip some poor young officer onto the matt, and then take out the remaining three of his comrades. Lestrade was standing in the corner with their trainer. The detective inspector was roaring laughing, watching you appreciatively. The grizzled man in charge of training the recruits on the other hand, didn't look too happy. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was because you were making mince meat of the fellows that he'd been training for a month, or the fact that his daughter had eloped the day before. Maybe it was a bit of both.

As you straightened up from judo-slamming one man particularly brutally, you caught sight of Sherlock. Immediately a huge grin broke over your face, and you jogged over to him. You appeared at his side in almost a second, completely forgetting about the groaning trainees littering the mat around you.

"I still got it" You told him proudly, causing him to laugh a little.

"Indeed you do" He smiled, and then reached out to ruffle your hair.

You shrieked and turned away, hands flying up to protect your head. Through that movement, Sherlock caught sight of Lestrade's shocked expression behind you. he guessed that the detective inspector wasn't exactly used to Sherlock messing around. Especially with _women_. You didn't seem to notice however, just gave him your best faux-glare and pummelled him in the chest gently.

"Ready to go?" He enquired, fending your fists away.

"Ready when you are" You nodded, waving to Lestrade and gesturing for Sherlock to lead the way.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps! I hope everyone's doing okay, and sorry I've taken so long to update! I hope you're all well, and thank you SO much for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions! It means the world.
> 
> Be sure to read the notes at the bottom of this chapter after you've read the story (don't read it before you've read the chapter, it may spoil some things for you). Let me know what you think anyhow, it encourages me to continue!

**You**

 

"Shall we get a taxi?" Sherlock asked smoothly, stepping onto the road to flag one down.

"Nah" You shrugged, moving forward to push his arm back down to his side, "I'd kinda like to walk"

Sherlock seemed to debate it for a few seconds, and you readied yourself for the possibility of another verbal sparring match if he decided he didn't want to go on foot. He surprised you by simply nodding, accepting your wish. Without another word, he took off at a brisk pace. His strides were far wider than yours due to his longer legs, and you had to rush to keep up with him.

"Walk _slower_ " You complained, tugging his arm.

"Grow longer legs" He retorted, his step not faltering.

In response you just leaned forward and slid your arm through his. He jolted in surprise, and you knew that he wasn't at all used to a female touching him, even platonically. Much to your delight, he didn't remove it, instead just patted your hand a little self-consciously, and continued to half-lead and half-dragged you along the streets of London. 

"I need to have have a chat with you when we get back" Sherlock murmured in your ear.

You arched a brow at him, gesturing for him to just continue there and then, but he shook his head and continued walking.

The journey back to 221B took far longer than expected. This was due to you both stopping at shops you liked the look of, and convincing the other to go in with you. Sherlock watched in amusement as you bought a few pairs of brightly coloured, pretty clothes ("Why are you smirking? I need more than just dreary black jackets. Even a spy can get depressed staring at the same colour scheme day after day. Now, what do you think of this aqua cami?"), and you waited patiently as he purchased a Nintendo and 'Brain Training' from the game-store after boasting for fifteen minutes about how it was probably worthless to him ("Well, if it doesn't teach me anything I suppose I can always return it under the law that goods must do as described, and it did not"). Eventually, after two and a half hours, when night had fallen, you managed to get three quarters of the way there.

"I'd soooo laugh if it gave you the brain age of a twelve year old" You scoffed as the two of you headed down the empty street.

"That wouldn't happen" Sherlock insisted, though there was a definite edge of nervousness to his voice.

You knew that he was fully aware that if something like that happened, he'd never hear the end of it from you. And everyone else that you told. Which would be everyone.

"But if it does?" You grinned evilly, and he rolled his eyes.

"Then it's obviously malfunctioning"

"Or more likely your mind is"

"Shut up"

You laughed at that, and after an amused shake of his head, he chuckled as well. He smiled at you a little shyly as you turned a corner, and you grinned back. Then, as the street-light fell across his face and illuminated his features in golden light, you felt a jolt of realization at just how handsome you found him.

"Let's take a short curt" He prompted, gesturing down the alley on your left.

You shifted indecisively, for some reason rather enjoying this alone time with him, and now wanting it to be over so soon. But it was indeed a cold night out, and probably the sooner you managed to get back to the flat.

So you just nodded, and said; "Sure"

You strode by Sherlock's side down the dark, deserted alley, skirting around filthy puddles and piles of stinking garbage.

You were almost at the end of the alley when someone stepped silently out from the shadows, blocking your path.

You jerked in shock, and one of your hands immediately flew to shove Sherlock behind you, while the other tore your gun from your holster.

"What do you want?" You snapped, narrowing your eyes dangerously.

The hooded figure before you held up it's empty hands, and spread out it's fingers.

"That ain't no way to treat an old friend" A voice rumbled, a voice you _recognised_.

A strangled cry of surprise ripped from your throat, and you could feel Sherlock's eyes boring into the back of your head. You didn't lower the gun, however, just raised your second hand, and wrapped it around the gun to join your first, steadying your aim. The weapon shook slightly in your grip, and you fought to keep it steady and to hide your fear. The man just chuckled humourlessly, and pushed the hood down from his face. You gazed at the familiar black eyes and shock of white-blond hair.

"How did you find me, Peter?"

He shrugged, then replied in his nonchalant accent; "Wasn't lookin' for you at all. Funny 'ow these things turn out, eh? I was a' the police station to pick up Fergus from the morgue. You remember him right? Ugly bastard. 'N' brutal. Even for our lot. Anyway, stupid git managed to get himself caught and killed before he could take down his target, some politician or the likes. Of course I was sent in to get the body back before they could pull some evidence off it or summin'. Imagine my surprise when _you_ walk into the station, alongside Sherlock 'Olmes! Still wasn't sure it was you, though. So I followed yas. Turned ou' I was right. But see, we all was led to believe that _you_ was dead. _They_ thought that you was dead"

"And they can keep on believing that" You said firmly, "You're going to lie down on your stomach on the ground without any fuss, and I'm going to cuff you. You're going straight back to Scotland Yard"

"You see, love, I don't really like the sound o' that. I'd much rather sit back and hear 'bout what you been doin' these past four years, and why you're with _him_ "

"That's not going to happen"

"What was it? What made you switch sides? Some sort of religious experience? A life-altering epiphany? Or did killing people just become that _boring?_ "

"Stop! You said desperately, twisting to look at Sherlock to explain, "I swear to you, Sherlock, I had no choice. I never meant to-"

"Oh, cut it _out_ " Peter laughed hysterically, "You should 'ave seen her, 'Olmes. She _loved_ it. She lived and breathed to run that knife of 'ers through people's throats"

"Shut up!" You screamed, turning to face Sherlock once again, "Sherlock, please believe me, I-"

In that second you realized your mistake, but it was too late. Even though you spun around to face Peter, raising your gun, he twisted into you to knock your arm away and then drove an elbow into your chest. You jerked back at the impact, staggering into Sherlock and sending him falling onto the pavement, but you managed to grab a tuft of Peter's hair, yanking his head backwards. He hissed in pain, but deflected your attempt to force him onto the ground by grabbing your arm and trying to throw you over his shoulder. He managed to get you up over him before your legs locked around his neck, and you twisted; Sending the both of you to the floor. You managed to stagger to your feet at around the same time, and he came at you again in a flurry of blows and kicks.

"Why don't you jus' come back with me?" He growled as you ducked under a blow to your head.

"Because it's not like I ever agreed to go in the first place" You hissed, attempting to snap the bones of his arm in two.

That was when Sherlock joined the fray. Two hands wrapped around Peter's waist, plucking him off his feet and then slamming him back down into it. You followed immediately, straddling him to hold him in as Sherlock held the assassin's arms above his head so you could handcuff him. His jacket sleeves slid back, and you saw Sherlock's wide eyes focus on the crescent moon tattoo on his left wrist. Face burning, you averted your stare and continued locking on the handcuffs. As soon as they were in place, Sherlock moved back. You rose also, keeping an eye on Peter to make sure he didn't try anything funny. The man was spitting curses at you, normal ones, and more colourful ones that you'd only heard very few people say, but nothing he said affected you in the slightest. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Sherlock staring at his hands in disgust, and then wiping them clean on his long coat.

"Look, he may have terrible hair, but I don't think he's diseased" You quipped, slightly breathless as you picked your gun out of a puddle a few metres away.

"You never know" Sherlock replied quietly.

 "They'll find you" Peter spat as you aimed the weapon at him, "They know how you work. You're still the same person. The same killer. They'll hunt you down like wolves"

You were silent. His words prickled you for sure, but were you really going to prove him right, shoot him where he lay on the alley floor? No, you wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Plus, Sherlock was standing beside you, his fingers brushing your waist in a reassuring manner, and his dark hair stirring in the breeze.

_No._

You were going to have to tell him the truth now. The whole truth, with nothing left out or hidden. He deserved to know after what he'd witnessed tonight. And it was something you had needed to get off your chest for many years now.

"They won't find me" Your voice rang out, confident and clear, as you slipped your gun back into it's holster and stepped back, "They only knew what they created. And that was never me"

You reached into your jacket pocket and drew out your mobile phone. Speedily, your cold fingers entered in the emergency code, and you were immediately connected with one of MI6's mission handlers. As quickly and accurately as you could, you filled them in on all the details. They promised to have a squadron out to you in fifteen minutes, so you gagged Peter with your scarf and hid him from the view of anyone who passed by the streets. Sherlock stood beside you, not saying a word. He had started to ask questions after you ended the call, but you had cut him off with a curt "At home." Much to your delight, he'd obeyed, and didn't press the matter further.

Eventually, the sound of sirens rent the air, and a number of police cars slid to a stop at the top of the alley. You knew that they weren't really police, just MI6 agents in disguise.  After talking to one of your superiors about the situation for several minutes as Peter was shoved into the back of a van, a fancy black car also pulled up, and no one missed Sherlock's eye-roll as his brother stepped out. Mycroft had his nose in the air as he stalked down to the group of you, and you swallowed, nervous for what you knew as going to be a lecture about your past putting Sherlock in danger.

Instead, Mycroft just said; "It has been arranged that he'll be taken to a secure and undisclosed location for questioning. You do not have to worry, ______. he cannot escape, and he hasn't been in contact with the Coven. We checked his phone records as soon as you called"

"Thank you, sir" You bowed your head, and Sherlock's hand rose to squeeze your shoulder comfortingly.

Your hand rose up to cover his, and you took it in yours without thinking about what it meant, or even what you were doing. It was an act born out of the need for human comfort. For some unfathomable reason, Sherlock, with his harsh remarks and strange sense of humour, made you feel safe. Of course it made sense for you to seek reassurance from someone you were comfortable with. But that didn't stop Mycroft from eyeing it in surprise with a raised brow, and Sherlock fighting back the blush that faintly showed up on his cheeks.

"Get into my car" The elder Holmes brother ordered abruptly, "I'll drive you both home"

You nodded mutely, and both brothers stepped back to allow you into the limo first. You settled down in the seat by the opposite door, crossing your arms and staring out the window as they got in behind you, bickering about something. You watched in silence as two of the undercover MI6 agents bundle Peter into the back of a police car and slam the door. He twisted in his seat, as if he could feel your gaze on him, and his ebony eyes locked with yours. He stilled his struggling, and just stared back at you. Malevolence and hatred emanated from him in waves, and you found yourself shivering slightly. Then, Mycroft's car pulled away from the curb, and Peter disappeared from view.

"______, are you alright?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

"Yeah" You sighed, messing your hair agitatedly.

"Just leave her, Sherlock" Mycroft sighed, "Allow the girl some time to get her head straight before you interrogate her"

"I wasn't going to interrogate her!" Sherlock snapped.

"Of course you weren't" Mycroft said sarcastically, and everyone else fell silent.

A few seconds later, Mycroft added something; "They won't know that you're here, ______. Peter so kindly shut down and wiped all the security cameras in the precinct so he could remove his associate's body unseen. It's backfired on him now, because even if they come looking for him they won't find any evidence of your presence in Scotland yard. Quite ironic, really"

No one spoke for the remainder of the car journey, and that suited you all fine. Your mind was a blur of thoughts and memories. You desperately tried to sort through them, figure out how you would explain your past to Sherlock and John. You didn't have to worry about Mycroft. You figured he knew all of your history.

Finally, the car reached 221B. You checked that there were no car coming along your side before you opened the door and stepped onto the road. As you straightened, you looked up at the sky. It was ink black, with stars glimmering and shining, illuminating what otherwise would have been dull blankness. Headlights hit your form, and you had to drag your gaze back down to the ground and quickly jog around the car and onto the curb. Sherlock followed, his footsteps heavy on the ground beside you. You glanced back at Mycroft's car, just in time to see the man himself give you a wave as the tinted window rolled back up to block him from view. You turned back towards the building infront of you, dreading the conversation that was about to take place.

"It's alright" Sherlock reassured you quietly, "Whatever you say. It'll all be alright"

Those words were the pillar of strength that you needed. Clinging to them like a life-line, and hoping that what he said was true, you nodded once and walked into the apartment.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Thanks" You said as John handed you the steaming mug of tea.

You were seated in a chair that you'd pulled out from the kitchen, facing John and Sherlock. They had their armchairs angled towards you, and were watching you carefully as they sipped their respective drinks. You were perched on the edge of your seat, legs crossed, foot tapping nervously on the ground. Your grip was tight around the handle of your cup of tea, and it was almost unbearably hot where it rested on your thigh. You didn't notice, however, just chewed your lip nervously as you stared into the depths of the liquid.

A throat cleared, drawing your attention. You looked up at John, who leaned forward to grasp your wrist.

"You can tell us anything" He promised you.

Your lips twisted upwards slightly, and shrugged off your jacket. You let it fall to the floor by your feet, and you slowly rolled back the sleeve of your top to reveal the tattoo on your wrist. For a second, fear twisted inside your stomach, and you almost yanked your sleeve back up and refused to tell them anything, but then your eyes fastened Sherlock. For some unfathomable reason, his encouraging pale blue eyes gave you courage, and after taking a deep breath, you began to speak.

"When I was three years old, my parents died. I don't really know what happened to them, or even remember them for that matter. I was taken into care, put into an orphanage. It was... okay, but I always wanted a family. For four years I lived there, in that place. One day, however, a woman came in looking to adopt. She was kind, wealthy, and beautiful. And she set her sights on me. I was more than happy to be adopted by her. That was where I went wrong" You sighed, "See, she wasn't actually looking to adopt and rear a child, and she wasn't who she said she was" You raised your sad eyes to Sherlock, "Have you ever heard of the Coven?"

He shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and clasp his hands infront of him. John leaned back in his chair, watching you with pity. You had a feeling that they knew what was coming.

"It's an agency. Assassins and mercenarys for hire" You explained bitterly, "They take whoever they can get their hands on, preferably children as their belief system is easier to manipulate if they are raised a certain way from a young age. They train them up, teach them to kill, and then set them loose in the world on assignment when they are adults. This woman was a recruiting officer for them. She took me back to them, me and some other other kids from the same region. From the age of seven until twenty one I was trained, drilled to believe that I only obeyed the Coven, and that killing targets was the moral thing for me to do"

"Jesus" John whispered, while Sherlock said nothing.

You suddenly became aware of wetness on your cheeks, and figured out that you were crying a little. Angrily, you wiped your arm across your face and continued talking; "When you're raised to believe something, brain-washed into thinking in a certain way, you do whatever those who control you tell you too. When you get beaten for asking questions, you stop asking them. In the end of it all, The adults who were raised from childhood there killed without asking questions and without remorse because that's what they taught us to think was acceptable and proper. This symbol" A shaking finger pointed at your left wrist, "This tattoo. It's their mark. It was their way of branding us when we came of age. It showed that we belonged completely and utterly to the Coven"

"Why didn't you get it removed?" Sherlock asked quietly.

You smiled harshly; "Call it a constant reminder for all the things I have to make up for"

"But... How did you leave?" John piped up timidly.

You ducked your head and started once again; "At first I was hard to manipulate, even for those who had decades of practise brainwashing kids. It became obvious when they were training me up that I was too volatile, too unpredictable. It soon became even more apparent that on the job I might impulsively refuse to carry out a mission, purely because I wasn't in the mood to do it. They couldn't have that, and would have disposed of most others who behaved in that manner. But I was good, and they didn't want to get rid of me. They called it 'a waste of valuable skills,' so they came up with a solution. They only sent me after other bad guys, mostly ones who had hurt women and children. For example, gang members. Maybe one gang would hire me to kill a member of another gang. It didn't matter who the people who hired me were, the Coven leaders tackled requests and who was granted a particular assignment, or even if these people paying for my services had done the same things as the person who I was being sent after. The Coven mission handlers would brief me, show me pictures of what these guys did to their victims. Telling me about what they did always got me riled up enough so that I'd focus solely on my target, and launched myself into the mission with single minded determination. One day, though, on my way to a mission a man stepped out of an alley I was tailing my target down, and over-powered me. Instead of killing me like I expected him to, he talked to me. Turns out the Coven had decided to fabricate this one killing. They had lied to me, told me my target did horrible things to innocent people, which he had actually never done, in order to get me to kill him. The first time they had ever lied, and the first time they got caught. This guy who stopped me was MI6. He said I had been on their radar for a few months now. He brought me to the target's house, where we stood staring in the window from the street outside as the man played games with his three young children and wife. It began to dawn on me then, what I had been about to do. I could have deprived an entire family of an innocent and good father. In that moment my loyalty to the Coven crumbled like ash. The MI6 agent then offered me a deal on behalf of his boss; Give myself over to MI6, and I wouldn't be harmed, but I would have to help them take down the Coven. I was so angry, so vengeful at being tricked, I accepted. I never looked back. And now, here I am" You finished, staring into the flickering fireplace.

"Here you are" Sherlock affirmed, sipping his tea.

"... I had no idea" John said lamely.

"Now you do" You answered, standing up, "I can understand if your attitude towards me has changed after hearing that, and I won't blame you if you decide that you want to request another guard-"

"No" Sherlock snapped abruptly, and John nodded in agreement, "You're staying. I _won't_ have anyone else"

For a second or two you were confused. Confused as to why they weren't disgusted, why the weren't cringing away from you or commanding you get out the door.

"______, I was in the army" John told you, "I've killed people too. I'm not going to judge you for following orders when I've done the exact same thing"

For some damn reason his words made you begin to tear up again. You blinked them back as quickly as you could, and the doctor stepped forward to pull you into a hug. You rested your head on his shoulder as his hands rubbed your back in soothing circles. Opening one eye, you peered over him at Sherlock. The dark haired man was watching you with his hands in his pockets and an unreadable expression on his face. When John let you go, he moved forward. Stopping infront of you, one hand raised to cup your face.

"It's alright" He promised you, "I told you, _everything_ is alright"

Before you could speak, there was a loud rap on the front door. A woman's voice called out John's name, and you guessed by his deer-in-the-headlights expression that it was his current girlfriend. His footsteps echoed dully on the carpet as he crossed the room to unlatch the door and let her in. She stormed into the living room, and you could almost see steam coming from her ears. She then proceeded to lay into John about missing their date, right infront of you and Sherlock. It was the least expected thing after you'd admitted your past to the two of them, and you could only stare. She caught you gaze and shot you a venomous look, obviously blaming you for John's absence, simply because you were a female who lived in his flat.

"Does anybody want a cup of tea?" Mrs Hudson cried, floating into the room and joining the situation.

"What I'd _like_ , is for John here to keep a date for once" The girlfriend fumed, much to your amusement.

Beside you, Sherlock snorted. You started in shock as he draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side for a one-armed hug. Your own arm slipped around his waist, and you rested your head against his chest, enjoying the feeling of being near to him.

"Thank you" You said quietly, barely audible over the screams of John's girlfriend.

"Everyone has done things that they're not proud of" Sherlock responded, "And it wasn't your fault. What they did to you was almost exactly like cult brainwashing"

"I know" You smiled up at him, feeling the beating of his heart against your ear, "Years with an MI6 counsellor kinda drilled that into my head"

His other arm wrapped around your front, and you couldn't actually believe that he was being so touchy-feely and reassuring. It was nice to know that he was trying to comfort you so much even though it probably made him very uncomfortable, seeing as he wasn't too fond of human contact and sentiment. Steeling yourself for him possibly flinching away, you slowly rose on your tip toes. He stiffened, but didn't jerk from you as your lips brushed over his cheek. His head turned, and you just stared into his eyes, holding your breath. You felt like you were waiting for something, but you weren't really sure what.

"Let's go rent a movie" He said after a few seconds of silence, "Hopefully by the time we get back, these two will have stopped bickering" He gestured at John tried to calm his still-raging girlfriend while Mrs Hudson watched in shock.

"Can I choose?" You asked, following at his heel as he grabbed his scarf and wrapped it around his neck after shrugging on his coat.

"Yes, but no romantic movies"

"What about a comedy?" 

"I'm sure that will suffice"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it was at last; The past reveal. I hope you liked it okay. You see, I have like an OBSESSION with all things assassins and secret agents, and I actually began writing this story like five months ago just for myself, and that was the angle that I had planned to take it from the start. I also kinda love this OC, because she did bad things (even though it wasn't really her fault, and she did only kill horrible people) which she's now trying to make up for. I just think it makes her more interesting, and I like to have OCs with slightly different personalities. 
> 
> For example, if any of you read my Bucky X Reader fic Winter's Thaw, the OC in that was kind of a cookie-cut good girl with solid morals. She's not boring (or at least, I hope she's not), she's smart and witty, but this OC is different because she has that little bit of a dangerous edge to her, like Irene Adler did. And my OC from my Hangover fic is just crazy altogether, so she's completely different from the other two. It just makes them more fun to write, and yeah, I'm rambling. (Oh, and OC means 'Original Character')
> 
> I really really hope you liked it, anyhow, and the Sherlock moments will begin to quicken in pace after this :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I haven't updated in so long! I've just had four parties this week, and a bunch of sleepovers and days out, so things have been hectic. Nothing really happens in this chapter, and I'm not sure how good it is but I felt like I needed to get it updated for y'all because it's not fair to make you guys wait for the next instalment. And you guys are so patient! Thank you for not harassing me for updates! (That can get kind of frustrating for me.) I'll probably come back and tweak it a bit if I still don't like it tomorrow, but this is it for now.
> 
> *Please read end notes*

**Sherlock**

 

You both got to and from the movie rental shop without any other incident or encounter, which Sherlock may have made a joke about if he had been thinking straight as to him, danger seemed to flock to you like a moth to a flame. However, on this singular occasion he was very much distracted, and couldn't find it in him to make the slightest witty remark. If you had noticed that his mind was elsewhere, you had shown no sign of it. You didn't know that he was so lost in thought that he could barely hear what you were saying: He was to busy paying attention to how you looked as the street-light crossed your face, how your lips moved as you formulated words, how your eyes shone when you were happy, and he was trying to figure out _why_ he was even paying attention to those little details in the first place.

Yes, he had admitted from an early stage that you were an attractive being. He could admit these things, you see, as saying that someone was good-looking was not the same thing as saying that you were attracted to them. 

And he wasn't attracted to you now.

He _wasn't._

He _couldn't be_. 

_But was he?_

"Well?"

He suddenly realised that you were asking him a question.

"Sorry?" He asked, slightly embarrassed about being caught of guard (though his face gave no show of it).

"Do you think John will be able to patch things up with this one?" You repeated, obviously referring to the angry-girlfriend.

"Maybe" Sherlock replied, "But I hope not. She's an idiot"

He was very glad of the topic that had just come up. Maybe now that his dislike of John's current choice of mate was the topic of conversation he could forget about this strange and unwelcome feeling he got whenever he looked at you. 

"You have a way with words, you charmer" You laughed loudly.

"But it's true" Sherlock arched a brow at you.

He may not be able to deduce you as he did others, but the curl of your lip every-time that she walked into the flat was proof enough to anyone that you were not too fond of her either. Well, it was proof to _almost_ everyone. For some bizarre reason, John seemed to be under the impression that you liked her, and that the both of you got along famously. Sherlock had once suggested that if you didn't want to tell John how much his girl-friend repelled you, than Sherlock himself could do it for you. He had been trying to be nice, but all it had earned him was a slap over the head with a rolled up newspaper, and a threat to shave off his eyebrows while he was sleeping if he dared. 

"She's not the nicest person" You admitted evasively.

"I can't wait for them to break it off" Sherlock told you flatly.

"You may not have to wait for much longer" You chuckled slightly.

"She's not overly patient" He observed, "Maybe it was from her obvious lack of experience in the relationship department, and entirely too much dependency on the Disney fairy-tales that she watches weekly"

You snorted, and rolled your eyes skywards; "I don't even want to know how you figured all that out. And there's nothing wrong with Disney marathons"

You had said the last part a little too defensively, so Sherlock gathered that he must have struck some kind of nerve.

"Of course there isn't" He amended, and caught your furrowed-brow look as you tried to figure out whether he was mocking you or not, "I'm only saying that one should not get over fixated on the idea of a Prince Charming"

"Good" You said eventually, satisfied with the answer.

"What movies did you get, again?" He stared down at the slim cases you were holding at your side as you walked.

"These" You handed them to him, and he began to flick through them as he tried to ignore watching where your skin brushed his.

_What in the world was wrong with him tonight?_

Ever since that moment a few mere hours ago, where you had sat in the living room of the flat with your eyes downcast and ashamed as you told them of a past that had been forced upon you, Sherlock had acknowledged that in these recent weeks he had been feeling slightly.. Warmer towards you. It had been Dewer's Hollow that caused it. That damned place. When he had seen the hound knock you down... It had made him realise that you mattered to him. Previously, he clamped down on the emotion you stirred, attempting to smother  it so it would go away. He cared for John as a friend, and even caring for one person as a friend was almost too much for him to deal with at times. He was not willing to allow another to wriggle into his emotions. Especially when he got the strange sense that how he felt for you was different than how he felt for John.

He wouldn't say that he _liked_ you for sure just yet. He may be forced ~~at knifepoint~~ to admit that he had an attraction to you, something that those less intelligent than he may refer to as a _crush._

Whatever it was, it was unwelcome and he resented it. Though he found to his annoyance that he couldn't take his resentment out on you.

"Can we watch this one first?" You asked hopefully, tapping one case in particular.

"Step Brothers?" He enquired sceptically.

"It's one of the funniest movies I've ever seen" You told him seriously, "And you're not allowed to ruin it for me by telling me how crap and riddled with inaccuracy it is all through the movie"

"I promise not to" Sherlock sighed as you turned the corner back to 221B.

"I think you'll like it" You decreed as your pace increased.

You seemed eager to get back to the apartment and watch the movies. Sherlock supposed you deserved a bit of fun after the day you'd had. You seemed to be trying your hardest to be happy and forget what had happened earlier in the day, but he saw how you looked at him worriedly every now and again. You seemed to be waiting for a sign that he was disgusted with you.

Well, you'd be waiting forever then.

You stood by the front door, tapping your foorlt impatiently as he rooted around in his pocket for the keys. After successfully locating them and picking out the right one from amongst all it's peers, he inserted it into the lock. The door opened and you both hurried in, as it appeared to be about to rain soon. He strode behind you as you bounded up the stairs ahead of him, and then decided to kick it up to a jog to catch up with you. 

It seemed like déjà vu when his shoulder bumped into yours as he stumbled slightly, exactly how he had when returning with you from your fake date. You laughed softly, obviously recalling it as well. 

"Come on, then" You called as you stepped into the apartment.

Sherlock followed immediately behind, but found himself slamming to a halt as your back collided with his chest. You had stopped dead in the doorway, and now peered uncertainly at him over your shoulder. Craning his neck, Sherlock peered into the room to see what had caused you to grind to a halt.

John and his girlfriend were there. They were sitting by a small circular table that had been dragged into the centre of the room. The table was covered in a fancy tablecloth that you had never seen before, and in the middle was a candle stick. The places infront of them were set up fancily, with Mrs Hudson's best cutlery in use. Sherlock knew from one glance what was going on.

'I thought you guys were going to see a movie?" John asked in confusion, fork halfway to his mouth.

"We said we were going to _get_ movies" You corrected as you held up the DVD cases and dangled them in the air for him to see.

"Oh" John grimaced as his girlfriend shot a glare at him.

Sherlock couldn't remember her name, so he decided that he was just going to call her 'Dragon,' because she was glaring at you and him so furiously that he could almost see smoke billowing from her.

"Didn't you tell them to leave the apartment?" Dragon snapped, "You said that you told them it was our one month anniversary"

"I did tell them" John said desperately.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say that infact John had said nothing of the sort, and seeing as he forgot their one month anniversary their relationship obviously wasn't going to last so maybe they should break up now instead of prolonging the inevitable. However, your elbow in his ribs stopped the words from coming out. You shot him a look that just firmly screamed _shut up_ , and then answered him by yourself.

"Oh... Yeah! Of course! Sherlock and I just must have got it wrong... It's all our fault! We thought it was next week! Didn't we? ...D-Didn't we, Sherlock!?"

_WHAM._

Another elbow into his side.

He grunted in shock, which you smiled widely at. 

"See?" You said, acting like his sound of pain had been an agreement, "We just forgot"

"Oh, okay" Dragon growled slowly, accepting the point but not at all happy with it.

John shot you a look of relief, and then glared at Sherlock. The detective purely rolled his eyes, but didn't move to contradict anything you said. He was too busy rubbing his stomach and trying not to wince. His ribs would probably be bruised tomorrow. You were pretty damn strong. It was slightly emasculating. 

There was a few more minutes of awkward silence as you shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, John looked anywhere but at the other people currently in the room, Sherlock stared at Dragon, and she glared back a him.

"Maybe we should-" You began, about to say 'go' or something like that.

"Sit down? Watch a movie? Great idea!" Sherlock yelled.

He grabbed you by the arm and dragged you over to the sofa. Protesting in a whispered tone, you tried to struggle but he pushed you down onto the cushions and sat next to you before you could move. 

"Uh, Sherlock?" John pleaded with him, and he ignored him.

"You wanted to watch 'Step Brothers' first?" Sherlock asked you, and ignored his angry friend.

"Is he serious?" Dragon demanded angrily.

_"Sherlock"_ John cried again.

The man in question just ignored him and plucked the DVD from your hands. Feeding it into the DVD player, he drowned out the angry buzzing of Dragon by humming loudly as he settled back on the couch with his side brushing yours. The heat emanating from your body next to his was very relaxing and exciting at the same time. For once, Sherlock just decided not to think about it, and to live in the moment. That was what you did, and it seemed to work for you. John began to yell at him to get out and Dragon screeched about how she could never have a proper date with John. You watched with wide eyes and occasionally tried to get up from the sofa, only to have Sherlock gently grab your wrists and tug you back down beside him. There was no way he was going to let John's soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend kick him out of his flat for a night.

Especially not when it was going to be a movie night with _you_.

"Sherlock?" You whispered nervously as Dragon got to her feet, still screaming furiously.

"Yes?" 

"I think we should go" You insisted.

"No. Why should we? Their relationship is over" He replied.

"No it isn't" 

He smirked; "Five... Four... Three... Two... One"

"It's _over!"_ Dragon shrieked, "I'm _done!"_

"... Oh, shit" You cursed, feeling really embarrassed.

"Told you" Sherlock smiled smugly.

The door slammed as Dragon lost her temper and thundered down the stairs. John only sighed as he stood in the middle of the room, making no move to follow her. It seemed like he had figured out that her temper and hatred of his room-mate and room-mate's bodyguard was more than he was willing to continue putting up with. Sherlock knew he was not particularly upset, he had known for the last few weeks that this relationship was just going more and more downhill by the day. The doctor rubbed a hand over his face in exhaustion and looked at you both.

"What are you watching?" He sighed.

"Step Brothers" You said, patting the sofa seat next to you.

"I love that movie" John said as he sat down heavily next to you, grabbing a blanket and draping it over the three of you.

Sherlock clicked 'Play' and the movie started. Within a few minutes, you and John were laughing hysterically at the antics, Dragon was forgotten. Sherlock was content to just survey you both as you focused on the screens, you more than John.

_God, you looked happy._

It made him feel rather content, too.

After while however, his eyes were also drawn to the television. He found himself chuckling at the funnier parts, and thoroughly enjoying it.

You were right. It was a rather excellent movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen Step Brothers, I really recommend that you give it a watch. It's fab. 
> 
> By the way, what are your thoughts on more than slightly immoral Reader characters? Because I'm thinking of doing a Moriarty X Reader fic soon enough, and the Reader character is going to be rather dark (but not a murderer or stuff like that). My dilemma is that I want this character to be a criminal, because that's the type of person that Moriarty may consider an equal, but at the same time I want you guys to be able to relate to her and find the character appealing. So, would you enjoy a powerful woman criminal as the reader character (think Irene Adler, but with less blatant sexuality and a bit more class and power)? Your opinion would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> As per usual, I'm exhausted as I usually write last thing at night (as I'm doing now), so I'll fix mistakes later. Hope you're all well, and drop me a line if you feel like it :) x


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so freaking long to update! I've had this like one-third done for the past four weeks, but I never got around to finishing it until today. Please excuse the grammar errors you will probably find, I haven't been too thorough with this update (I wanted to get it up ASAP for you all)
> 
> Nothing really happens in this chapter, it only serves to fan the flames of the starting romance some more. So enjoy, my lovelies (Please comment is you did like it!)
> 
> I don't know if I've ever linked you guys to it before, but if you want to talk to me privately or something: My Tumblr is 'rennered-me-speechless' (it used to be 'thegalagaplayingshieldagent' but I changed it). I love getting to know new people, so feel free to contact me.

**You**

You had been with Sherlock and John for around three and a half months now, and your relationships with both of them were stronger than ever. John was the best guy-friend that you could have ever asked for, he was kind, sweet, and helpful. You could go to him whenever you had a problem, and he would always listen to you attentively, and give you his honest opinion at whatever the issue was. He valued your opinion just as equally, and often asked you for girl advice. 

Your relationship with Sherlock was slightly more... Complicated. You were on great terms with one another, yes, but recently you had started to notice him staring at you curiously a lot. It made you uncomfortable, as you had seen first hand how he deducted things about people. You wondered if he was doing the same to you, and what he thought when he did. If he actually did, he gave no sign of it. He was easy to get along with (most of the time. He did occasionally have his mood swings and temper tantrums, but you had learned how to deal with them, and it really wasn't worse than putting up with a spoilt child), and he had begun to let you in a little; Lightening up and letting you see his carefully hidden fun side.

Right now, however, John was out at the grocery store to buy more food, and Sherlock was sleeping. You were in the kitchen, munching on a bowl of your favourite cereal while leaning against the counter. A glass of orange juice was set behind you, and the smell of toasting bread was strong in the air. You had already showered and dressed in your most comfortable pair of sweats, for it was a miserable day in London and there was no chance that you had to go out. Therefore you really had no reason to put too much effort into dressing up. You had put in a _tiny_ bit of effort, just did your eyes make-up and made sure that your hair looked okay. 

The kitchen radio was turned up, though not loud enough to wake Sherlock. You were humming along to some song that currently topped the charts, and although you didn't know the name of it you knew the lyrics. You blamed that on the fact that radios only ever seemed to play the same five songs over and over again. Finally, you spooned the last bit of cereal into your mouth just as the toaster _'popped'_ loudly behind you. Dumping the remnants from the bowl into the sink, you turned your attention to your toast. You were just about finished eating it when the door down the hall opened, and Sherlock stumbled out.

His hair was sticking up in odd places, making him look like a demented porcupine. He wheeled around, obviously still slightly sleep-disorientated. At last, his gaze found you, and he seemed to calm down slightly, his shoulders relaxing. 

"Looking for something in particular?" You called, foot still tapping along with the music playing on the radio.

"Just you. Or John" He replied as he rubbed his eyes.

"He's out getting more food" You replied, "Apparently you used up a whole load of stuff in another one of those experiments that we told you that you weren't allowed to any-more"

Sherlock had the sense to look rather sheepish, and scuffed his slippers on the carpet while tugging his long blue dressing gown tighter around his body.

"What's for breakfast?" He asked eventually.

"Well, I don't know what you're having, but I've already eaten" You said primly, leaning back against the counter and folding your arms once more.

"And you didn't make any for me?" Sherlock seemed hurt, which almost made you laugh.

"I was afraid that you'd grump about my cooking, if it didn't meet your standards" You told him.

"I wouldn't have" He protested, but you shot him a look and he relented, "Okay. _Maybe_ I might have"

"Don't lie. You most definitely would have"

"No, I may not have"

"You're still lying"

"Oh, shut up"

You laughed loudly at that, and he cracked a small smile, his Cupid's bow lips curving upwards. You watched as he went about preparing his breakfast. He was yawning, and one pale hand went to massage his neck. You suddenly found yourself staring at those hands, those long, lean fingers, and marvelling at how gorgeous they were. They were proper man's hands, powerful-looking and yet elegant. Your gaze then roved up and down his entire body, and even though you knew you shouldn't, you started thinking of how handsome he was once again. He looked like he belonged in some olden day era, around the time that something like Pride and Prejudice would be set. You had no clue why on Earth you thought that, but it just somehow seemed right.

"Are you going to join me at the table?" He asked after he dumped some bacon that he had fried up onto his plate. 

"I'd prefer to stand right now" You shrugged, "Seeing as I won't get any exercise today as it's too rainy to go out"

"Then I'll stand with you" Sherlock surprised you by saying as he moved to stand by you.

You grinned in at him response, and boosted yourself up onto the counter beside him. Quickly, you pointed away from you and towards the living room, feigning shock. When Sherlock's head snapped around to see what you were gesturing at, you leaned over and swiped a piece of his toast. He turned back just in time to see you put the corner of it into your mouth and chew happily.

 "Hey!" He exclaimed loudly, glaring at you in indignation. 

"Made you look, made you stare" Was your smirking response.

Much to your surprise, he grabbed your arm and jerked it. You yelled out as he used your own limb to shove the remainder of the toast into his mouth. 

"Sherlock!?" You half-shrieked and he chuckled loudly.

"It was _my_ food!" He exclaimed, poking you in the side with his long index finger.

You grabbed hold of the digit, and pulled him forward so that he stumbled over your legs and almost fell. He stumbled, righted himself, and then tugged his finger back towards his chest. As you were holding onto it, you were tugged off the counter and fell into his firm chest. Strong arms wrapped around you, and you felt his warm breath ruffling your hair. You twisted around and stared up at him, both of you laughing quietly.

His eyes were glimmering with something that you swore was affection as he looked at you.

_That was kind of odd..._

You felt the mirth beginning to fade away, and soon your laughter went completely. As you were staring up at him curiously, Sherlock arched a brow smoothly, silently asking why you had gone so serious. When you didn't answer he felt compelled to voice his question aloud.

"What?"

You jolted in shock, obviously not expecting him to speak.

"Huh?" You asked distractedly.

"Why have you suddenly gone so serious?" Sherlock enquired.

"Oh. It's, uh, nothing" You shrugged, stepping out of Sherlock's hold.

"Tell me" He persisted, frowning. 

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. You knew fine well that he would continue to pester you until you answered him.

"It's just that... Well... I couldn't help thinking about how different you are from when we first met. You laugh a lot more. You seem happier. It's just kind of... Weird"

"Weird?" Sherlock was startled, "I thought you would find it easier, me being nicer. Don't you like me better this way?"

"Yeah, but I liked you the way you were as well" You replied, smiling shyly.

Sherlock blinked, resembling a startled owl. You kind of got the feeling that people didn't say that to him very often.

Gently, you leaned back in and folded one arm around his waist in a half-hug.

"Don't look so shocked, darlin'" You drawled.

You drew back and glanced up at him again before letting go and stepping back. Turning to go, you began to leave the room when something made you stop.

Another song started playing on the radio. Ed Sheeran's 'Give Me Love.'

Stopping completely, you allowed your eyes to close in happiness, foot tapping to the slow beat of the music.

"I love this song" You murmured, unsure if he could actually hear you as you spoke in a relatively low volume.

"You do?"

"Yeah" You turned back to smile sheepishly at him, "It played at a ball that I was at last year, and I've adored it ever since"

"A ball?" He sounded surprised.

"Yeah" you chuckled sheepishly, "I was undercover"

"That explains it" He nodded to himself.

"What?" You tilted your head to the side to study him, "Is the fact that I would go to a ball voluntarily so surprising?"

"Maybe a little" Sherlock teased, resting one elbow on the counter.

"Why?" You quizzed.

He shrugged; "You just don't really seem like the dancing type"

Your nose scrunched and you glared at him indignantly; "I'll have you know that I'm a terrific dancer"

"Oh really?" Sherlock asked with an almost playful expression on his face.

"Yep" You popped the 'p' and folded your arms proudly across your chest.

"Well" The consulting detective decided with a smirk, "Maybe we'll just have to test that?"

Sherlock peeled himself off the counter and walked towards you with a movement that could only be described as a swagger. Stopping infront of you, he examined your face for a minute before slowly reaching for your hand. By the way his eyes kept flickering back to yours, you gathered that he was unsure of whether or not this move was okay with you. That confused you, for you had seen him read people countless times and it made no sense that he wouldn't be able to see what you were feeling. 

In order to confirm that it was alright, you took his hand in yours. Your reward was a dazzling white smile, and his hand on your back as he drew you close. his other hand entwined with yours as your free arm slid up to rest just below his shoulder. You gazed back up at him, and he cocked his head slightly.

"Are you ready?" His voice was a low rumble.

You didn't even bat an eyelid; "Are you?"

He let an amused puff of air escape his nose at your words, and without another word he began to lead you in a waltz. You concentrated as hard as you could, though you didn't need to. The dance was perfectly in sync. There was no trodding on toes, or mistaken steps. You both moved in time to the music, and to eachother. A grin curled your face as you swept around the room and marvelled at how magnificent this felt. A quick glance up at Sherlock showed that his usually guarded face was revealing the same joy that you felt. It was still odd to see him so comfortable with both you and human contact.

The dance went on, increasing in pace as you both became more confident with your pace. You found yourself laughing loudly, head thrown back as Sherlock whipped you around the room. Chortling loudly, he spun you under his arm. You whirled around, and he tugged you back towards his chest. You would have continued as normal if your foot hadn't caught on a chair leg and sent you wind-milling backwards. Sherlock lunged forward to save you, one arm wrapping around your body as the other hand kept it's hold on your wrist. He managed to stop you before you hit the ground, but when you found yourself nose-to-nose with him you began to wish that he had just let you fall. 

You had ended up in a position that could only be described as a dramatic movie-style dip. The one where the guy usually ends up kissing the girl while the spotlight rests on them and everyone else dances around them and basically ignores that two people are making out.

You cringed at the thought as a pinkish blush lit up your cheeks.

_Kissing Sherlock... Well, that'd just be WEIRD (though maybe not entirely unwelco-NO!)_

"Uhhh" You said uncomfortably, aware of how Sherlock wasn't straightening up.

He seemed to be frozen in position, gazing right at you. You figured that your proximity must have caused him to freeze in horror, because everyone knew that he wasn't a big fan of human interaction. It wouldn't surprise you if he had a bottle of hand sanitizer that he was going to pour over himself after you were done here.

It was then that a floor-board creaked loudly. Both your head and Sherlock's snapped towards the front door to the apartment as Sherlock immediately straightened up and pulled you to your feet with him. 

John winced as he eased his foot up, looking rather irritated at himself for disturbing the show. Giving you both a knowing grin, he shrugged his shoulders, causing the grocery bags he carried in both hands to make a crinkling noise.

"Don't let me interrupt" He quipped slyly.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed without incident: You went out on a case that took less than an hour to solve (Sherlock was being extra quick today), and you also ended up getting take-out from the Chinese down the road. After lugging the bag of dinner home, you, Sherlock and John collapsed in front of the TV. There was a large debate to what you wanted to watch, until it was eventually agreed that the Star Trek reboot movie would be acceptable. As soon as the film ended, John and Sherlock went to their respective beds, and you wandered over to your camp-bed which had been pushed against the wall to make more room during the day. After reading for another hour or so, you decided that it was probably time to go to sleep. 

There was no telling when Lestrade may call if he needed help on a case, and you needed some rest if you were to be alert and efficient.

It seemed like only the next minute (but it was in-fact three hours later) that you suddenly woke up with the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching you. 

Your eyes opened slowly until they were slitted, giving your observer the impression that you were still asleep, though you could see the shadow cast against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Silently, your hand slid under your pillow to wrap around the handle of your gun. The shadow moved slightly, and you became aware of how if they had a weapon they could attack at any second. It only took another split second to realise that the mouth-breather was perched in an armchair right beside your bed.

Bolting upright, your gun shot up to point at the centre of their forehead. There was a loud thud as they immediately dropped whatever they were holding in shock, and raised their hands in surrender.

"For God's sake, don't shoot! It's me!"

 _"Sherlock!?"_ You exclaimed, swinging your legs out of the bed as the gun dropped back to your side, "What the hell do you think you're doing!? Do you know how dangerous it is to creep up on me when I sleep!?"

"I wasn't creeping" He argued, stooping to pick the mug he had been gripping up off the carpet, "I was getting a drink of water"

You looked him up and down. He was dressed in his usual blue dressing gown, his hair all rumpled and bedraggled once again. Indeed, he appeared to have been drinking something out of the mug he'd got, but you knew there was more to it than that.

You arched a brow at him; "The kitchen is back _there_ "

"Oh... So it is" He sifted uncomfortably.

"Why are you out here then?"

"I wanted to sit down"

You stared at him for a minute before another small smirk lifted your lips.

"Were you watching me sleep?" You asked, leaning on your elbow as you eyed him curiously.

"No" He answered stoutly, but slightly too quickly for you to believe him.

"You were!" You gasped.

"You were making noises!" He tried to defend himself, "I wanted to know what you were saying"

"I don't talk in my sleep" You frowned.

"You do" He pressed, "You say things"

"Like what?"

"I... I didn't get to hear"

"Of course you didn't" You responded, allowing the sarcasm to colour your tone.

"Well, uh, goodnight" He stammered as he stood up abruptly.

"Yeah, for you maybe" You grumbled.

Sherlock watched as you kicked your blankets off your legs and stood up. You then proceeded to strip the fore-mentioned blankets off the bed, bundle them up in your arms, and stalk off. You strode to the other side of the room only to deposit your sheets onto Sherlock's armchair, and then go about dragging the sofa into the centre of the room to face the TV. From there you picked up the blankets once more, collapsed onto the sofa and wrapped yourself up in your quilt with a contented sigh.

"Aren't you going back to bed?" You enquired suddenly, swivelling to look at Sherlock.

"What are you doing?" He ignored your question.

"I'm not going to be able to get back to sleep for a while" You shrugged, "I never can when I get woken up-"

"Sorry" He dropped his embarrassed eyes to the ground.

"It's alright" You decided, "Anyhow, I may as well watch some TV"

You picked up the remote and switched on the screen, continually flickering through the channels until you found something you liked. All the time you were aware of how Sherlock was still in the room, watching you with hooded eyes and twisting his hands around each-other nervously.

"Do you... Need something?" You question awkwardly, not knowing what else to do.

Sherlock sighed, shaking his head and running a hand through his dark hair. After another minute he spoke up, a slight uncomfortable waver to his usual deep, velvety voice.

"Do you mind if I, um, join you?"

"You want to watch TV with me?" You were surprised yet again.

"Yes" He confirmed, "If it's alright with you?"

"Of course it's alright with me" You chuckled, patting the space beside you.

He smiled at you happily, and made his way towards your position. You expected him to move past you and seat himself down on his own armchair, but instead he joined you on the sofa. There was a respectable distance between your bodies, but you could feel the heat emanating off of his skin.

"Blanket?" You offered, as it was a chilly night and his dressing gown didn't look particularly warm.

He hesitated for a second, before thanking you and accepting. You reached across, giving him some of your duvet and scooting closer so that you both had a decent amount. Your sides brushed together, and he seemed to flinch away slightly at the contact. You raised concerned eyes to him, looking at how he was frowning to himself. When he caught your curious gaze, a small apologetic smile crossed his face. You felt him relax once more, allowing your arms to touch each-other.

"So" You found yourself asking, "What do you want to watch?"

"Anything" He replied, leaning his head back against the sofa-back.

You took him at his word, and eventually settled on some comedy show that he'd heard of before. You seemed to know it well, and enjoy it (judging by the little giggles that were emanating from your form. However, you began to grow more and more tired as the night progressed, until your eyelids drooped shut and your head fell to rest on Sherlock's strong shoulder. The consulting detective stared down at you in shock, hardly daring to move. He debated standing up, or gently easing you off him, but (just like the last time he saw you asleep), he didn't want to wake you up. You mumbled something, and twisted, burrowing further into his body. One of your hands moved up to rest on his chest as you turned your face so that it pressed into that space under his neck even more. Sherlock tried not to breathe too heavily, lest he wake you up. You mumbled again, and he realised what you were saying.

Smiling, he looked down at you affectionately and brushed a strand of hair off your face.

It was strange, what you were doing to him. How you were making him feel.

But he found that he didn't really mind it in the end.

He made up his mind then, and moved so that he gripped you firmly, yet carefully. Moving back slowly, he lay down on the couch, pulling you up onto his body so that you were curled between him and the back of the sofa. You would be safe there, there was no way you'd fall off the couch in the middle of the night. Your head was on his chest now, placed just over his rapidly beating heart. The consulting detective swallowed heavily, and raised shaky fingers to touch your hair.

He'd wanted to do that for a while now: Your hair just always looked so soft.

Sighing contentedly, he pulled you closer into his body so that you would be as warm as possible. Soon, he felt his eyelids shutting. He tried to keep them open so as not to miss any of this, but he was fighting a loosing battle and he knew it.

Then you did it again. You spoke. it was almost as if you were giving him permission to sleep.

_"Sherlock"_

He smiled peacefully, closed his eyes, and drifted off to join you in slumber.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I began writing this like immediately after I posted chapter eleven (yes, THAT long ago). But then life and various other pieces of crap got in the way, and I never had time to finish it, or any other story for that matter. Hopefully I'll get to update it soon, but with exams in June I feel like that's just wishful thinking on my part.
> 
> I'm so sorry for lack of updates again, though. All comments you left will be replied to as soon as I can get to them. and for people who read my other stuff, namely Winter's Thaw, I'll be trying to tackle that as soon as I can. It's just that the next chapter of it holds a scene that I have felt intimidated about writing for a long time, so I have to work up the nerve, and also try make it good enough for me to be able to post. 
> 
> Also at the moment I'm too tired to proofread and need to go study. Sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Thanks, y'all. Enjoy.

"Are you _sure?"_ You repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time that night.

You studied Sherlock as you pulled your hair out from underneath the collar red leather jacket that you'd just shrugged on, and zipped it up. John was standing beside you, pulling on his own jacket and clutching a scarf in his hands. The sound of the rain slamming against the window panes of 221B  was the background noise to the conversation.

"Yes, ______" Sherlock sighed yet again. "Unfortunately for me, Mycroft is here with his bodyguards. I'm not allowed leave until I help him."

The elder Holmes brother shot his younger sibling a glare, smoothing down his suit before sneering; "Oh Sherlock, don't try to mislead our lovely lady here, you wouldn't go anyway. We all know that you pride yourself on being antisocial."

Sherlock scowled at him, and Mycroft returned the stare evenly.

"Well," you uncomfortably shifted on your heels. "If you don't need anything else... Sherlock, and, uh, Mr Holmes?"

"No, we're quite alright here," Mycroft responded before Sherlock could.

It was a clear dismissal, but you didn't want to leave just yet. Not until Sherlock gave you his permission to go. Your eyes met the consulting detectives, and he held your stare. After a few seconds his mouth curved upwards in a smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling. He mouthed at you to go, and made a slight shooing motion with his hands. You smiled sadly at him, kind of down that he was going to miss out on the fun. Before you could say anything else, John's hand was wrapping around your arm and he gently pulled you towards the door.

"I'll be sure to give Lestrade your love," you called over your shoulder as you were pushed across the threshold.

Before he could stop himself, Sherlock blurted; "Save it for yourself"

Your laughter rang out loudly as you began to descend the stairs. John froze in the act of closing the door to the flat, his eyes wide with shock as he examined his friend. A few seconds later, he shook his head slightly, sent one more curious look Sherlock's way, and then closed the door. The rapid thud of his footsteps followed your slower, lighter ones. Sherlock listened until he saw the slamming of the front door, and then turned back to face his brother. Mycroft was staring at him with a raised brow and an expression of rapt interest. Sherlock felt himself colour ever so slightly, and chose to turn his eyes towards the fireplace instead. Mycroft slid in-front of him, blocking his view of the flame and so Sherlock was forced to gaze at him once more.

"Does my little brother have a thing for his protector, then?"

The amusement in his brother's smooth voice was evident, and Sherlock tried not to get angry.

"No, I don't," he responded, slamming closed the book that was held open on his lap and getting to his feet.

He strode over to the shelf to return it, and also so he would not have to look into Mycroft's knowing eyes much longer. Not wanting to turn around just yet, his hands were braced against the shelf and he was leaning into it. His eyes were closed as he tried to block out the aura of sarcasm radiating from the other Holmes in the room. His brother let out a low laugh, and Sherlock could hear his cane tapping over the floorboards as he approached him.

"I think you do," he chuckled.

Sherlock gritted his teeth and said nothing. He was not going to give Mycroft the satisfaction of knowing that he was right.

"It's quite adorable really," the elder Holmes continued. "Doomed love, seeing as you have no idea how to treat a woman or a romantic relationship. It'll be more of a comedy than a love story."

Sherlock felt his knuckles clench.

"Must you always be so rude?" he snapped. "Really, Mycroft, one should expect more manners from a man of your position."

"The way one deals with one's associates, and the way that he deals with his family are two completely different things," Mycroft replied airily.

"Ah, but what if they're one and the same?" Sherlock shot back. "I seem to recall you needing _my_ help. Why should I give you assistance, if you're only going to mock me?"

Mycroft's head tilted slightly as he assessed his brother silently. Sherlock waited, seeing the wheels of his mind turning as he tried to summon a retort to what Sherlock had said. Eventually, he just shrugged as he recognised defeat.

"My apologies, brother dear. Usually such remarks wouldn't have fazed you in the slightest. You've been called much worse than a man in love."

"I'm not in love!" Sherlock exclaimed angrily, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. "Yes, she might be less annoying than other woman, not so irrationally emotional, easier to get along with! I might _like her a little,_ but I _do not love her!"_

Mycroft only watched hi, his expression now unreadable.

"Give it time," he murmured, before gesturing to the papers strewn across the coffee table in-front of him. "Now, shall we get down to business?"

 

* * *

 

"That was strange, don't you think?" John commented as he trotted down the stairs behind you.

You were barely listening, too concerned with the rain that was bucketing down outside.

"Yeah," you replied distractedly. "BBC weather said it was going to be a nice night."

"Not the _rain_ , you idiot!" John chuckled, moving past you to open the door to the outside world. "What Sherlock said!?"

Shivering as the cold rushed in, you skipped back a few paces as John opened the door. He rolled his eyes at your reaction, though he looked somewhat amused. You lifted an arm to motion for him to go ahead, to be first to leave the house. He shook his head and indicated for you to be the first one out, complete with a fake courtesy bow. There was a simple reason to why you both were doing this: The first person out would be the one to hail a cab. The second person would be able to wait indoors until it pulled over.

"Ladies first," he insisted.

"Age before beauty," you retorted cheekily.

Your friend rolled his eyes, but pulled up his hood and stepped outside. You moved forward to lean against the door, watching John stand at the side of the pavement, waving his arms at the passing cars. 

You found it kind of sad that Sherlock wasn't allowed to go. Granted, a social event such as drinks in the pub was not exactly his 'thing,' (especially since Donovan was going to be there) but you would have enjoyed his company. He had grown on you a lot in the past few months, and without him the night just didn't seem...Complete. But he had to work, he was needed and you understood that.

Still, it would have been nice if Mycroft hadn't impeded on your night out.

"______!" John's voice yelling your name caught your attention.

A taxi was just pulling up to the curb, splashing water as it's turned to the right. John was beckoning you over, his eyes narrowed against the rain. Pulling your jacket tighter against your body, you hunched your shoulders and hurried out into the wind. John already had the door open, and with his usual good manners he allowed you to slip in to the shelter of the car first before he followed, closing the door after him. The cab driver didn't even turn around, just let out a grunt to ask where you were going. John gave him the directions, as you were still unsure of where you were going in London. The cabbie made a non-committal snorting noise, and the cab peeled away from the curb.

You were quite content to move the conversation onto a different topic, but John was having none of it.

"It was just odd," he continued, perplexed. "Sherlock... He never says things like that. Never. Not to anyone."

"Maybe it's because we're bestooooos," you joked, trying to shrug off what you knew John was hinting at.

"I don't think that's it," John refused.

"John..." you began, trying to get him to stop.

"I'm just trying to say, ______, that I think... Well, I think Sherlock might actually... Like you. As more than a friend, which is unnatural enough for him."

"He doesn't," you could feel a deep blush creeping over your cheeks.

"I think he very well might," John replied.

His shoulder brushed against yours as he shifted beside you.

"Why?" you had to ask.

"He just acts different around you. Different to how he acts around everyone else. He's... Softer. Warmer. You can see that he's more gentle in how he speaks to you. I like to think that I know him better than anyone else does, and I get the feeling that he _does_."

"Then you're wrong," you answered quietly.

"But I might not be," he retorted softly, finally sensing that you didn't want to talk about it anymore.

You both fell silent, shifting to look out of opposing windows. Your head rested against the pane of glass as the city lights flashed past your lidded eyes. John was breathing deeply in and out beside you, the soft rustling of his jacket permeating the silence. You sighed, closing your eyes briefly.

You hadn't meant to cut him off, but you didn't want to think of it. It wasn't that the idea of Sherlock fancying you was... Unappealing in any way. If you were perfectly honest with yourself, it was the opposite. With a jolt as John spoke, you realised that the idea of Sherlock liking you was something rather attractive to you. It had taken you by no small amount of surprise to cop on that you felt this way. however, you had a job to do, and you could not afford to let whatever feelings you had get in the way of your concentration.

"Which pub are we going to?" you asked, to break the silence that had risen between you and John.

"The one we were in last week," he reminded you with a small chuckle. "As I have repeatedly told you about twenty times today."

"Sorry!" you laughed. "My mind has been wandering a fair bit today."

John rolled his eyes. "That much is obvious, _____. Were you too busy dreaming about Sherlock in a love-sick manner?" His last words were teasing, and filled with amusement and eagerness to see how you'd react.

"I don't think it's wise to antagonise the person with the gun here, Watson," you faux-growled at him, narrowing your eyes as you did.

He feigned a terrified face, and held his hands up in surrender. The cab, who's driver luckily hadn't heard anything, pulled into the curb. John opened his door, which was the one beside the pavement and slid out. You scooted along the seat to follow rather than attempt to climb out your door into the traffic, and John caught your hand and helped you out. He then took out his wallet and paid for the taxi, and you then handed him your share of it back.

"You could just pay for the one home and then we'd be even?" he suggested as he held your money back out to you. 

You folded it back into his palm and grinned. "A Lannister always pays their debts."

He rolled his eyes at you. "So ominous." 

"Feel threatened."

"I do."

"Good."

He shook his head and reached out. His fingers closed around your jacket sleeve and he began to tug you inside.

"Come on. Let's go meet the others."

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was obsessing. 

He knew he was, but he couldn't _stop_.

He found himself constantly looking up at the clock, or down at the wristwatch on his arm. He watched the hours tick by, and wondered if you should be home by now. He was almost positive you should it. It was approaching one o'clock in the morning, and you had John had promised that you would not be out too long. He found himself worrying if something should happen, if he should call to make sure you were okay. But that felt too much like something a boyfriend would do, checking up on you. After Mycroft's words earlier, he planned to avoid giving off that romantically-interested vibe at all costs.

But still. He was worrying.

He checked his phone again, but still no call or message. 

Sighing in frustration, he raked his hands through his hair, messing up the loose dark curls. Pushing himself to his feet, he began to pace infront of the window, coat swirling around him. He hadn't been able to bring himself to change into his pyjamas.

He would give you another half an hour. Then, if he didn't hear from you or John and you didn't arrive home, he would call.

If you didn't pick up then he would come looking for you.

 

* * *

 

"If you get sick on my shoes, I'll kill you," you told John as you clumsily patted his back.

Your friend didn't answer, just heaved again. The sound of vomit hitting the ground had you flinch, and then scrunch your nose up as the hideous smell followed. You glanced around to see if anyone had seen or noticed you both, but the alley at the side of the pub was completely deserted and empty, save for a few trash can and dirty puddles.

"I really wish you hadn't had garlic and cheese fries for lunch," you slurred, feeling like you yourself was going to hurl. "It smells literally so disgusting. It couldn't have been worse if you had eaten dog-food."

John didn't laugh, just groaned loudly. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and you shuddered yet again.

"Oh my God, I feel so ill," he rasped.

"I don't understand how you're this bad," you told him. "You've had exactly the same amount to drink as me, and I'm _fine!"_ You threw your arms out, as if to show the world how absolutely fine you were.

You subsequently lost your balance and flopped onto the ground.

_"Owww."_

You rolled over and looked up past the buildings and into the night sky. The stars were blotted out as John stood over you, staring down at you . You lay defeated upon the dirty ground and glared back at hi.

"You're pretty drunk too," he informed you sadly.

"No," you protested. "I'm fine."

"You can't even stand up."

"Yes I can, Stink-Breath."

"Observing you trying to get up is like trying to watch a turtle roll of it's back."

"Majestic?"

"Feeble, actually."

"Says the guy who just vommed on his knit sweater."

"You can hold yourself in a fight better than you can when drinking."

"Ouch. That's really cold of you, John."

You both glared at eachother for a few more seconds, before bursting into drunken laughter. John tried to reach down to offer you his hand, but almost over-balanced as he did. He straightened up, reeling around dizzily. You attempted to roll onto your stomach, get your hands underneath your body, and push yourself up, but your arms felt like noodles. You just slumped back to the ground, narrowly avoiding smashing your face off the ground.

"I think we need help," you confessed.

"Lestrade and the others left over an hour ago."

"Well shit."

Before you could say anything, the door to the pub opened again and a man stepped out. He was very tall, and you could see that his hair was brown in the streetlight. He turned, his eyes landing on you and John and you could see his face. He was very handsome, and masculine looking. He looked like one of those Alpha-Male businessman types who didn't take shit from anyone and worked out every single day. He was wearing a long, pure black coat with a high collar. It was immaculate, and had the look of being something extremely expensive, and his body was lean and muscular.

He had been in the process of lighting a cigarette, but had frozen when he saw you and John.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Are you alright?" 

He turned sharply on his heel and strode towards you purposely, his eyes fastened on John standing over you. Through the drunken haze that you were in, you suddenly realised that a woman on the ground and a man standing over her could look extremely off.

"Yes. Yes, I'm f-f-fine," you managed to get out. "This is m-my friend... We've just had a little bit too much to drink."

The handsome man paused, and a small amount of amusement crossed his face. "Can you not stand?"

"Unfortunately n-not."

"I see. Would you allow me to help you to your feet?"

He outstretch a gloved hand at you, and you shakily grasped it. Gently, he pulled you upright. You staggered a little, falling into him. His arms encircled you to ensure that you didn't fall, and you flushed red. Even in your drunken state you weren't exactly comfortable basically embracing a complete stranger. As soon as you were steady, however, he released you carefully. You thanked him, and stepped back.

"Could I hail a cab for you both? Forgive me for saying, but neither of you look stable enough to be anywhere near the side of a road."

You mulled this over as you caught hold of John's arm, then agreed.

"If you wouldn't mind."

The stranger led you out of the alley, onto the brightly lit London street. You clutched John's arm tightly, and stood a little bit back as the man raised one hand, and let out a piercing whistle. A yellow taxi immediately separated from the stream of passing cars, and slotted into position infront of you against the pavement. The stranger leaned forward, and opened the door to the backseat, stepping back and waving you into it. You tugged John forward by his arm, and bundled him into the cab. Before you got in, you faced the man. He was still leaning against the car door as he held it open for you, watching you. In this proximity you could see the blue of his eyes. He really was good-looking.

You were well aware that you yourself looked like a mess. No doubt your hair was everywhere, you probably had dirt on your face, and you knew that you smelled like a brewery.

"Thank you," you said, offering a still slightly shaking hand to him.

He took it in his strong one, and returned the handshake. "It was no problem, anything to help a pretty girl in need."

You blushed a little, and withdrew into the cab. He shut the door carefully, and smiled at you through the window as the cab took off, driving back to Baker's street.

 

* * *

 

He had been watching through the window so he saw the cab pull to a halt. Immediately, he recognised your face through the taxi's window, and he shot out of his seat. He was pelting it downstairs in a flash, not bothering to grab his scarf or quieten his tread so that he wouldn't wake Mrs Hudson. When he opened the door and flung himself outside, you and John were only just climbing out of the cab. He immediately recognised, the meaning of your slow, uncoordinated movements.

"You're drunk."

"Not as much as him," you motioned to John, who was borderline comatose at this stage. "Can you pay for the taxi? I've lost my purse. Help me get him upstairs."

Sherlock obediently looped John's other arm around his neck, getting a strong whiff of vomit from the patch on his sleeve as he did. You were on John's otherside, and after paying for the taxi, you both gripped him tightly. Trying to maneover him up the stairs was difficult. It was hardly wide enough for two people, let alone three. And you were still unsteady because you were drunk. Somehow, though, you managed to get him into the flat.

"We could just leave him on the couch?" Sherlock suggested.

"No," you groaned. "Let's just put him into his bed."

So you continued to drag John down the hall and into his bedroom. You collapsed into a sitting position on the ground after he was deposited into his bed. Sherlock carefully rolled him into the recovery position, and when he was finished he drew back to look at you. Much to his surprise, in the twenty seconds or so that he hadn't looked at you, you had fallen asleep. Your head was against the side of the bed, and your mouth was open. You were drooling a little, which Sherlock found amusing.

He wasn't going to leave you there, so he knelt down and scooped you into his arms. You snorted loudly as he did so, and he chuckled quietly. Putting all of his weight down into his knees, he carefully lifted you up until you were held bridal style into his chest. From there, he looked down at you and noticed the rips in the knees of your jeans. Some of your skin showed through, scraped and red. He wondered if you had fallen or something, and decided that he couldn't just let the injuries go unchecked. Pavements were dirty, and you could get an infection.

Shifting you in his arms, he carried you out of John's room and into his. He gently placed you onto his bed so that you lay over the covers, and slid his arms out from under you. From there, he headed into the kitchen to take the first aid kit, some anti-septic, and a large scissors. He figured he'd have to cut your jeans to get at the cuts, because he wasn't exactly uncomfortable with undressing you, even if it was to look after you. Plus he didn't know how well you would react to waking up and finding out he'd taken off your trousers when you slept. However, it appeared that he didn't have to worry about any of that after all, as he found that you had woken up when he arrived back in the room.

You were nestled in his pillows, watching him with tired eyes.

"Whatcha got there?" you asked him.

"You have cuts on your knees. I was going to treat them," he told you as he approached the bed.

"And the scissors?" 

"To cut the bottom of your jeans. I figured that it wouldn't matter. They're ripped anyway."

"Ahh, okay. I understand," you smiled tiredly. "It's alright though. Give them here. I can do it myself."

"No way," he held them out of your reach. "In your state you have the motor function of a two year old. It's best that I do it."

He thought you may fight it, but you surprised him by settling back onto his bed and closing your eyes. "If you insist."

So Sherlock set about cutting your jeans open up to your knees so that he could spread anti-septic cream over the cuts on your legs. You watched through half closed eyes as his long, elegant fingers deftly ripped open various bandage packets and h stuck them over the wounds. He was silent as he completed his task, seemingly lost in thought. You wanted to know what he was thinking, but you were also too tired to ask. You felt yourself drifting into sleep again when his words interrupted you:

"I was worried about you."

Your eyes opened fully and you looked at him curiously. "You were?"

"You were out for a while."

"You know I can look after myself? I've been doing it for a very long time."

"That doesn't mean I didn't worry. And about looking after yourself? By the state you just came home in, I beg to differ."

You huffed slightly. "Everybody gets drunk."

"I don't."

"You will someday, and then I'll laugh at you."

"That's not very nice. If I ever get drunk I expect you to be as nice to me as I'm being to you right now," he teased slightly.

There was a twinkle of amusement in his pale blue eyes. You grinned at him, reaching out to slide on of your hands into his. You entwined your fingers with his, dropping your gaze to smile at you interlocked fingers. He did the same, enjoying the way your hand holding his looked. Before he could lose his nerve, he raised his arm, lifting yours with it, and pressed a kiss into your knuckles. You watched him with surprised eyes, as he smoothly deposited your hand onto the bed and stood up. He towered over you for a spilt second, and he looked proud and strong. But there was something softening in his features as he gazed down at you. He leaned down once more, to brush his lips over your forehead.

"Sleep well, little one. I'll see you in the morning."

He turned on his heel and started to stride from the room.

"But this is your bed?" your voice called after him.

"It's yours for tonight, _____. Now, rest."

He stopped to give you one more affectionate look, before he closed the door to the room fully and blocked himself from your view.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all kudos, comments, subscriptions and bookmarks. I hope you're all well, dears!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see. As I have said in every other fic, I AM SORRY. I remember the new season coming out last year and thinking of how I'd relate it to this story. I have to run now, so no long note I hope all you guys are well and thanks for the support over the years! I hope you all haven't gone! Things will pick up soon, next chapter the Fall begins.

You woke up with nothing that could be described as anything but a pounding headache. Groaning, you reached up to cover your head with your hand, pushing the hair out of your face. Your eyes opened blearily, and you glanced around your surroundings. Everything seemed to be spinning slightly, and you really hoped you weren’t about to get sick. You really had no strength to get up and would thrown up all over yourself, which would definitely not have been pleasant. After a few seconds on adjustment, you were finally able to push yourself onto your elbow and register your surroundings.

You were in Sherlock’s room.

_Uh. What?_

Your memory of the previous night was fragmented, you could only recall bits and pieces. You remembered the bar, John vomiting, getting out of the taxi and then..? An image of Sherlock holding a scissors flashed across your mind and you frowned. You couldn’t tell if it was a dream or not, because why would Sherlock by standing in-front of you holding a scissors?

You moaned again, and pushed the blanket down of your torso as you made to get out of the bed. The lower half of your body became visible then, and suddenly you understood. _Ah. So that was why._ Your jeans had been cut above the knee, now looking more like crude cut shorts than actual decently expensive pair from River Island. Your knees had fresh, clean plasters covering them. You must have had cuts, but you couldn’t remember how.

Despite how bad you felt at that very moment, a small smile flickered across your tired face. Sherlock. It was a very sweet gesture. John’s words on the way to the bar echoed in your mind and you had to agree that there had been a lot of sweet gestures recently. Not that you placed a whole lot of importance on them. It took Sherlock a while to warm up to people, maybe he was finally nearing complete thaw with you.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet touching the cold wood of the floor. It was soothing, so soothing. You slid off the bed, down onto the ground and lay down face-first on it, not caring if it was dusty. Your forehead pressed into the cool floorboards and you sighed at the few moments relief that it brought. You heard the door open, but didn’t react. Maybe if you pretended to be dead they would leave you alone. Light spilled in and over you, illuminating your body as it lay face-down on the floor. You heard laughter, an amused chuckle as he took in the scene in-front of him.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“I think I might be dying,” you responded with a groan.

“I brought you some stuff to help with that.”

“You brought some stuff to help me die?!” You had to raise your head at that.

He laughed again. “No. Apologies. I meant I had brought some things to help with the hangover.”

Raising your head off the ground, you blinked at him heavily. He was standing over you, tall and with eyes filled with repressed laughter. He had a tray clutched between his hands, but from your angle upon the floor you couldn’t make out what it had on it.

“I can’t see,” you moaned, rolling over onto your back. “Lower!”

Sighing in what you knew to be mock-indignation, he approached and stooped into a crouch in-front of you. The tray was proffered in-front of you, now at a level that you now could see what lay upon it. There was a glass of water, a cup of coffee and a plate with a few pieces of sliced toast. Two white pills lay at the side of the tray. Probably ibuprofen or something.

“The best hangover cure our kitchen could whip up,” his voice was soft. “Come on, get up.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you replied honestly.

“Alright.” He rose in full once more, and side-stepped past you. You watched him from your place on the ground as he set down the tray upon the bedside table. When he was done depositing it, he turned back towards you and sauntered over.

Crouching down, his hands slipped under your arms slowly. You bit your lip, unsure of your legs capacity to support you. He gave you a small, supportive smile and his grip tightened. His hands nudged you upwards and you complied. With his help you managed to get one foot under you, then the other. You rose slowly, only able to stand due to Sherlock’s support.

Your hair fell in-front of your face as you swayed slightly. His hand was warm was he brushed the hair away from your face. You would have thought more about the gesture if your head wasn’t pounding so much. You peeked out at him from underneath a curtain of hair. He was watching you, and you realised that there was also some worry mixed into the amusement on his face. You smiled sheepishly at him, before nodding and taking a slight step back.

His hands slid from you as you backed away, and you found you could stand on your own two feet. You grinned a him, slightly embarrassed. “I don’t think I remember the last time that I was this hungover.”

“I checked John against the Glasgow coma scale. He literally classifies as a category one in terms of eye response, verbal response, and motor response.”

You snorted. “Should we be worried?”

“In a few hours, maybe. I already left another tray beside on his bedside table for him when he wakes up.” Sherlock moved to pick up the tray again. “Come to the kitchen. I’ll make you a fry.”

“You can cook a fry?” you were slightly incredulous.

“Of course,” he seemed indignant. “I am not an incompetent fool.” He headed towards the door.

“Why all the special treatment?” you teased. “Were you worried about us last night?”

He glanced back at you over his shoulder as he rounded the doorway. His eyes had widened just ever so slightly.  “What if I was?”

“Then that would be very sweet of you,” you smiled as you followed him.

He ducked his head away from you, but you still had time to see the small blush that was creeping across his face. You tailed him as he headed towards the kitchen. He kept his back towards you, walking quickly so that you could not catch up to him. You just shrugged it off and ambled into the kitchen after him, plonking yourself down upon the dining room chair.

You were pretty good at reading Sherlock by now, and knew that by the way he was purposely trying to always keep his back towards you that he was embarrassed. He did not want you to read it on his face, but you could see it written just as clearly when looking at his back. He was also clanging the pots and pans a bit too loudly, and he always made noise when he was slightly frustrated.

He yanked open the fridge and bent over, peering into it. “What do you want? Bacon, eggs, sausage?”

“White pudding,” you added eagerly.

“We don’t have any white pudding, “ he informed you. The fridge slammed as he straightened up.

“You said you would make me a fry,” you pouted at him.

“And I am.”

“It’s not a fry without white pudding,” your voice was petulant.

“Well, I don’t know what exactly you want me to do then.”

“Go and get me some.” There was an evil glint in your eyes as you examined his reaction. You were trying to see what you could get away with. One reason for doing so was that you were simply interested in seeing if he would do it, and the second reason was a bit more… You weren’t exactly sure what the right word to use would be. Basically, you were trying to see if there was any truth to what John had said last night. If Sherlock actually did fancy you in some way.

“I might consider it, except you would be obligated to come with me. I can’t exactly go out on the street without my bodyguard present. Considering how Mycroft berated you at Baskerville it’s probably better that I am not seen having left your side.”

You considered it for a moment, before nodding. “Touché.”

He watched you, eyes unreadable. “You can come with me this evening as I go to get some. I’ll make you breakfast again tomorrow.”

You leaned back on the chair, planting your feet upon the table. “I could get used to this royalty treatment,” you drawled with a smile.

He rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance, before stepping forward and swiping your legs back onto the ground. “People eat there.”

“You literally put dead body parts in the fridge,” you said incredulously.

 

***

It was mid-afternoon when John shuffled into the living room. Sherlock was taking a bath, so it was just you and John. The doctor was ghostly pale and wrapped tightly in his duvet. After a cold shower and some hot coffee, not to mention the fry Sherlock  had whipped up for you, you were feeling a whole lot better. Still not 100%, but much more yourself. You would definitely be fine by the next day at least. Despite having thrown up most of what he had drank the previous night, John was definitely in worse shape than you were this morning.

“You do not look good. At all,” you sniggered.

“Shut uuuuuup,” he just groaned, hanging his head in defeat.

“You almost threw up on me,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, I don’t remember anything.” His face genuinely had a slight green tint to it, which you took as good incentive to very simply steer completely clear of him. “Thanks for looking after me though.”

“I think I had some help,” you frowned as a memory flitted across your mind. “Some guy hailed a taxi for us.”

“That was nice of him,” John sighed. “Did I give you the money for the one back? I can’t remember.”

“No I didn’t pay, Sherlock did,” you shook your head. “I lost my purse. Had to have MI6 freeze my card. They’re bringing me a new one out this evening. It’s annoying though. It has all my IDs in it. I’m going to get into shit for not taking better care of them.”

Almost as if some deity had answered your prayers, at that moment your phone rang. You picked it up and saw on the screen that the caller ID was ‘unknown.’ When you got a call from MI6 it was usually a blocked number, not an unknown, which was why you hesitated to answer it. It rang for a few seconds before you decided to just answer it.

“Hello?” your voice was polite and enquiring.

“Hello, my name is Simon Morgan. I found this purse outside a bar last night. This number was on a tag inside it.”

“A pink purse!” you exclaimed excitedly. “Yes, that’s mine!” Seeing your excitement, John gave you a tired thumbs up and then turned to stumble into the kitchen.

“Do you have an address I can post it to? The address line on the tag was left blank.”

You started to answer, but then bit your lip before you could actually say anything. With Sherlock’s ever-increasing popularity, your picture had been on the front of the papers many times, though your face was always blurred out. It was commonly known that he had a female bodyguard, but not who. If you gave the address, the man could make a connection. Your IDs had pictures of you on them. All he needed to do was snap a picture, sell it to the press, and you were outed. People from your past could find you very easily that way.

“How about I just meet you instead?” you said quickly.

“That would work, yes,” he responded.

“Where is good for you?”

“There’s a costa café just down the road from the bar I presume you were at last night? How about there? In an hour.”

“Yes, that works perfectly,” you smiled. “Thank you so much!”

He laughed. It was a deep, throaty chuckle. “It’s no bother, miss. Happy to help.”

You thanked him again and hung up the call. Immediately you called Lestrade, asking him if he could station three officers at the apartment in your absence. He agreed, and promised to send a few of “the decent ones” over to keep an eye on Sherlock while you were gone. After that conversation ended, you stared at your phone worriedly, before sighing and dialling in the one number that you really did not want to have to call.

Mycroft answered on the first ring, his voice smooth. “Hello agent. I trust everything is well.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied calmly. “I just wanted to inform you that I need to leave for an hour or so to retrieve some lost belongings from last night. I have already called the Detective Inspector and he will station guards in my absence. Sherlock will not be let unprotected and I will return as soon as possible.”

“Hmmmm.” His displeasure was obvious. “Yes, I’m not surprised you need to go out to retrieve items. You were apparently in quite a state upon your return last night. Highly unprofessional. I had a feeling it might happen and I had other guards watching Sherlock while you were out drinking.” You closed your eyes and pulled a pained face. You had been really hoping he did not know about that. “I will only warn you once more, Agent _____. You will not be allowed to continue this behaviour. The only reason that I have not taken you off this assignment yet is that Sherlock would not allow it, and some part of me thinks you may actually do a good job, though all your actions say otherwise.”

“Yes, sir. Understood,” you answered meekly.

He didn’t bother to reply, but simply hung up. The dial tone rang in your ears, just like his words of disappointment. You didn’t like to fudge a mission. Sighing, you trotted over to your duffel bag and pulled out a pair of jeans and a black sweater. Having nowhere else to go since the bathroom was occupied, you headed to Sherlock’s room to change.

You stripped off your sweatpants, yanking on your usual black skinny jeans instead, and then pulled your tank top over your head. It was at that moment that the door knob to the room twisted, and the door was pushed open. Sherlock stepped in, at first not noticing you as he was looking down towards the ground as he ran his fingers through his wet hair. However, obviously noticing your feet, his head snapped up. Ice blue eyes fixed on you and widened in shock. You were pretty sure you were wearing the same deer-in-the-headlights expression.

The only thought echoing around in your brain was gratitude that you were wearing a nice bra, instead of that kind of ratty one that you had thrown out yesterday. If someone was going to accidentally see you semi naked, you wanted to look good when they did. Sherlock was completely shitless, wearing only a white towel wrapped around his waist. His pyjamas were clutched in one hand, while the other fell slowly away from his face to his side. He did not say anything, just started to turn beet-red.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you joked, trying to diffuse the tension a bit.

It wasn’t like you were naked, for God’s sake. Him seeing you in a bra was just the same as being seen in a bikini. Surely he, of all people, would have realised the logic of that? Still, it was slightly embarrassing so you held your shirt against your chest to block his view of anything that may be deemed inappropriate.

He stared at you for a few seconds longer before starting, obviously snapping out of whatever thought had occupied his attention. His face became composed, formal. “I’m sorry. I should have knocked.”

“It’s your bedroom,” you laughed it off. “I should have found somewhere else. I just thought you’d be in the bathroom for a bit longer.”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifting his gaze away. You realised you still hadn’t put your sweater on, and winced slightly. “Sorry, sorry!” you exclaimed, quickly shrugging it on. “See?” you chuckled when your body was hidden once more. “No more boobies. You can stop hyperventilating now.”

“I’m not hyperventilating,” he protested although you had only been joking.

“I’m a bit hurt that you had such a negative reaction to seeing my body,” you teased as you stepped around him. The best way to get rid of the awkwardness was to laugh it off, you reasoned.

“I was just startled!” he argued, his frowning eyes following you as you skirted past him and into the hallway.

The floorboards were cold under your bare feet, as in your haste you had forgotten to grab a pair of socks. You flashed him a grin, before turning on your heel and starting to pad towards the kitchen and living room once more.

He called after you, and your name sounded serious in his mouth. You twisted to face him once more, staring at him attentively. He was still standing half in the door frame, not having moved a muscle. “What’s up?”

“It wasn’t a negative reaction. Believe me, your body is… Nice.”

You gaped at him for a second, not really knowing how to respond. The famed Sherlock Holmes, the man you had never seen look at any woman once, let alone twice, was complimenting your figure. When you didn’t answer and simply stared at him with your mouth hanging open like a fish out of water, he flushed from pink to pure neon red. The floor vibrated slightly as he stepped into his room and slammed the door hard behind him.

You continued to stare at the wood where he had been, still at loss for words.

“Told you,” a smug voice said from behind.

You wheeled around to see John leaning against the counter, drinking a cup of tea. He still looked sickly, but amusement gave his face colour.

“Told me what?” you asked a bit stupidly. But hey, your mind was still stuck on processing Sherlock’s words.

“In my entire time knowing him, I don’t think I have ever heard Sherlock say the words ‘your body is nice,’” John snorted. “That’s the Holmes’ equivalent of ‘take me now.’”

You had to laugh at that. It wasn’t a lie to say that you were still slightly sceptical and incredulous about the whole ‘Sherlock fancies you’ fiasco. Instead of saying anything to add fuel to the fire, you just shook your head at John. “Whether he does or doesn’t, I have a job to do. I don’t get involved in that way.”

John just shrugged, a slightly knowing expression shining in his eyes, and remarked, “you know you’re blushing too.”

Rolling your eyes, you headed to your camp bed once more. Setting your bag once more upon your knees you dug through it until you found socks. Once you had them and your boots on, you approached John once more. “I don’t know how much you heard of that phone-call, but I’m headed out in a few to meet up with that guy who found my purse. I rang Lestrade and Mycroft and some officers are coming over while I’m gone. I shouldn’t be out too long, but call if you need me.”

He nodded. “Could you get me some Lucozade Sport while you’re out?”

You giggled. “We have the same hangover cure.”

“Great minds,” he commented as he tapped his temple with two fingers.

Shooting him one last grin, you headed over to the door of the flat, and descended the stairs until you stood outside on Baker’s street as you waiting for the officers to arrive. They did within ten minutes, Lestrade with them, and you shook his hand before heading off. It didn’t take you long to get there, but considering all the time that had passed at the apartment you were just about on time. You stepped into the coffee shop, glancing around in the hopes of recognising the man. It was then that you realised you had never actually gotten a description of him, and so had no idea who you were looking out for.

As you whirled around to look for someone who appeared to be waiting for someone, a man caught your eye. Tall, and blonde, with a nice coat. He seemed dimly familiar, so you stepped towards him. Obviously feeling your gaze, he glanced up to catch your eyes. Upon seeing you, he straightened, and then pushed his chair back as he stood. He smiled and skirting around the table, walking towards you with an outstretched hand.

White teeth flashed as he grinned at you. “Ah! I suspected it may have been you! I must say, you look a lot better than the last time I saw you!”

Your head tilted in amused confusion before you finally understood. You snapped your fingers, grinning widely and reached out to grasp his hand and shake it firmly. “You’re the man who hailed the cab for myself and my friend!”

“That was me, yes,” he smiled back. “Glad to see you made it home in one piece! How’s your friend?”

“Still breathing,” you chuckled.

“I have your purse in my bag, come on!” He headed back towards the table, and you had no choice but to follow. He sat down in his chair heavily and looked up at you expectantly. “Go on, take a seat.” He waved at you, motioning for you to join him.

You bit your lip. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. I have to be back soon.”

At that moment, a waitress came over with a tray. On it sat two mugs containing steaming dark liquid. You could see marshmallows and chocolate flakes. The waitress smiled at the man, Simon, and lifted both mugs up to deposit them upon the table-top. Flashing you a grin, she left.

Simon raised a brow at you. “I ordered one for you too, so…” he trailed off with a smirk and winked at you. Rolling your eyes, though you were in-fact extremely flattered you conceded and sat down. He pushed one of the mugs further towards you and then settled back in his chair, that confident look comfortable on his features. He was seriously charming and very good looking.

The image of Sherlock’s unclothed torso flashed in-front of your eyes and you jerked slightly in shock at the unexpected thought. _Woah. Where the hell had that come from?_ You shook your head slightly.

“Something wrong?” Simon had caught the movement. He was pretty perceptive.

“No, nothing! Just had a thought,” you chuckled in response.

“Good one, I hope.”

You cringed a little at the combination of his words and his flirtatious tone. “Neither.” Raising your shoulder in a non-committal shrug, you reached out and grasped the handle of the mug, lifting it up and taking a sip. “Yum, this is some good hot chocolate.”

“Can never go wrong with hot chocolate.” He raised his own mug and clinked it against yours. “Oh, and here’s your purse!” He twisted around, ruffling through the bag hanging on the back of his chair before pulling something free.

“Thank you so much!” you exclaimed as he handed it to you. “I would have been so screwed without this!”

“I think it fell when you were on the ground,” he explained. “You seemed to be having a good time last night. I saw you and your group in the bar. The guy you were with outside, he looks familiar. Who is he? Some celebrity?”

Your stomach twisted nervously. You hadn’t prepared any lie to use if asked about John, because you never thought anyone would recognise him. Luckily, and due to years of practice, making up an untruth on the spot was second nature. “He’s a writer, he’s been getting some attention recently.”

“Oh, what are his books called? I’m curious to see if I’ve heard of them.”

You shrugged, leaning back to drape an arm over the top of your chair. “To be honest, I don’t know. I only claim to have read his stuff. He’s not really that good of a friend, we just live in the same general area.”

“Where’s that?” he enquired.

Intent on putting a stop to the questions, you just fixed him with a cool stare and said, “are you asking where I live?”

He thought about it for a second, and then raised his hands in defeat. “Sorry, I’m an overly-curious person.”

“It’s alright,” you smiled but you felt a faint twinge of discomfort at the questions he had asked. Quick thinking determined the best course of action may be to draw attention away from yourself by asking about him. “So Simon, why were you out last night? Any big occasion?”

“Nothing much, just meeting a few friends. I didn’t have as much fun as you,” he teased.

“I think that would have been impossible,” you joked.

“I know, I saw you on karaoke. Only someone who was really drunk could be that confident about their awful singing.”

“Hey,” you laughed but he flashed you another disarming smile.

“I’m sorry, I’m being mean.”

“No,” you protested. “I know you’re just kidding around. It’s nice… My flatmates are kind of serious. It’s fun to be able to not have to constantly worry about offending someone.”

“Oh, you have flatmates? What are their names?”

“Shirly and Joan,” you answered as you took another casual drink of hot chocolate. Training had taught you that when fabricating names it was a good idea to try relate them relatively closely to the person’s actual name. That way if you went to say the real name and realised half-way through you could still recover from it. “How about you, any roommates?”

“Nah,” he said. “I live alone.”

“Lucky,” you said sincerely.

 

***

“Where did _____ go?” Sherlock asked John when he finally reappeared from his room.

John was slouched in his armchair in the living room, with the curtains drawn. Even though it was dark, Sherlock could see that he had his eyes closed. John didn’t respond, so Sherlock lifted his leg and nudged his knee with him foot. John woke up with a jolt, and glared at his friend.

“What do you want?” he snapped. “I was sleeping!”

“_____. Where’s she gone?”

“Oh, out. Some guy found her purse so she went to meet him at some coffee shop near the bar.”

“How long has she been out for?”

“I don’t know, I was sleeping.”

“What time did she leave, John?”

“I don’t know, maybe around three?”

Sherlock glanced at his watch. It was now after five. Wondering where you were was beginning to become slightly exasperating. You were meant to be here with him, not out for coffee with some random man. Determined to get you to return home so that he didn’t have to keep feeling so angry, he dug his phone out of his pocket.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“Ringing her,” replied Sherlock, hitting speed dial.

He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for you to answer, his brow furrowing further with every ring that you didn’t. Just as he was about to give up, the call connected.

“Hello?” you said, and he could hear that you had obviously just finished laughing.

His stomach twisted unpleasantly. Try as he might, he was unable to stop the acid that crept into his voice. “_____. I was under the impression you were only going to retrieve a purse.”

“Oh God,” you exclaimed. He could hear you shifting in your seat. “I completely blanked on the time! I’m so sorry, Sherl!”

A man’s voice, muffled, asked something in an inquisitive tone. You hissed a reply and Sherlock felt his anger grow as he realised you purposely were trying to cover what you were saying from him.

“Well you need to come back right now. We have a case to attend. Urgently.”

“Okay, roger that. I’ll leave now. Bye!”

“Bye,” Sherlock snapped curtly.

The call ended as he hurled the phone down onto his armchair. It was thrown with such force that it bounced off the cushions and onto the floor. Closing his eyes, Sherlock tried to breathe in and out deeply and count to ten. When he opened them again, John was staring at him, his brow raised.

“What?!”

“You’re actually jealous. You do like her.”

“Oh, don’t be so absurd.”

“You’re literally having a tantrum because she stayed to talk to a man who found her purse. We don’t even have a case, do we?”

“Maybe.”

“Sherlock.”

John’s voice had him relent. Rolling his eyes, he scowled. “No.”

John shook his head, exhaling loudly. “Why don’t you tell her, rather than acting all crazy. If you start freaking out, it’s going to drive her away.”

“She wouldn’t leave,” Sherlock really hated how he sounded so defensive when he said that.

“No, she wouldn’t,” John said. “She’d stay as it’s her job, but if you want to maintain the current relationship that you have with her you need to get a grip. Or you can take a chance and just tell her.”

“There’s nothing to tell!”

“Stop denying it. Everyone knows. Except her. She won’t believe it unless it comes from you.”

“Well it never will.

“Okay Sherlock,” John shrugged, “but I want you to know that you have no right to get stroppy about her relationships with men. You have no ground to stand on. You can’t expect her to be alone, simply because you want her but are too afraid to say anything.”

And with that, John settled back into his chair, and closed his eyes. Sherlock knew it was his way of ending the conversation before the consulting detective could snap back with anything again. In agitation, Sherlock ran a hand through his hair.

It was hard for him to admit, even to John. Sherlock was not used to feeling as he did. Heck, he wasn’t even used to feeling how he did about John, and that was simply just friendship. The feeling that welled up in his chest when you grinned that cheeky grin at him was completely alien. He had felt something like it with Irene Adler, but while his attraction to her was an uncomfortable, stabbing heat, with you it was like sitting in-front of a campfire on a chilly night. He could feel the heat of it all over his skin but it didn’t hurt. It was soothing, warming him to his core, and he can’t help but crave more of it.

After a few long minutes of contemplation, where Sherlock stood as still as a statue, he finally spoke. “And if I were to tell her, hypothetically if I did indeed like her… How would I go about it?”

John’s eyes remained closed, but Sherlock saw him smile broadly. The doctor thought it out, and then replied with a shrug. “It’s got to come from the heart.”

Sherlock threw his hands into the air in frustration. “Like that’s supposed to help me! I should have known better to ask relationship advice from someone who can’t make one work!”

“Hey!” John’s eyes opened at that and he sat forward angrily. “I’m trying to help you! And it’s not like we know anyone else who has had a successful relationship.”

“That it true,” Sherlock nodded. “Lestrade’s wife was cheating on him, Anderson cheated on his wife with Donovan, Mrs Hudson had her own husband executed for murder… Not that he didn’t deserve it… And you and Dragon broke up…”

“Wait, what did you just say?!”

“Don’t even get me started on Mycroft. Molly Hooper dated Moriarty… There is no expert to give genuine advice.”

“Right, well why don’t you go and read some romance novels as research then?” John snapped in exasperation.

Sherlock registered what he said, before slowly turning to face him with wide eyes. “John, what did you just say?”

“I said go read a romance novel,” John grumbled.

“You’re a genius!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Girls like those things!”

John wasn’t entirely sure if you liked those things, but he would say anything to get Sherlock off of his back at the moment. Sighing, he just said, “yup, they do.”

Striding over to the desk, Sherlock sat down on the chair in-front of it and opened up his laptop. From where John was sitting, he could see him googling romantic novels. As misguided as it was, it was also kind of… Sweet. Also John was surprised that he sort of got Sherlock to admit feelings for you. The man was as stubborn as a bull, and John had thought there was a chance Sherlock would go to his grave without saying the words to you.

Sherlock had just finished placing an Amazon order for seven books that were meant to be “the most romantic novels of all time” when the sound of the front door closing rattled through the apartment. His head shot up, and he quickly deleted the Amazon window as you came bounding up the stairs.

It must have been a bit chilly outside, seeing as your cheeks were brightly flushed. Your eyes were shining, and Sherlock felt his stomach plummet when he looked at them. The emotions he could see in there brought a sense of dread.

“So, how did it go?” John spoke first.

His question launched you into a flood of amination. “Oh guys, I had so much fun. I’m sorry I was so late but he was just so funny and nice!” You threw yourself into Sherlock’s armchair, flinging an arm over your forehead. Your beaming grin had Sherlock’s own mouth turning down. “I would have liked to have be able him again.” The last part was said with a sigh.

Abruptly, Sherlock pushed himself back from the desk and rose to his feet. “I’m going to go to bed.”

You frowned, and struggled up so you sat straight. “I thought we had a case? And it’s only five forty-five?”

“Case is cancelled,” he said coolly, “and I need to catch up on sleep yourself and John had me miss last night.”

With that, he headed down to his room. The door closed behind him, the sound ringing in the air. You turned to John was confusion clouded your face.

“Did something happen while I was out?” you asked.

John debated telling you, but then decided he couldn’t betray Sherlock’s confidence like that. Instead, he twisted the truth. “You know what he’s like, he likes to come first.”

You nodded, looking troubled. “Should I go and talk to him? I mean he obviously comes first. It’s my job to keep him safe.”

John let out a hissing breath, and shot a look at Sherlock’s room at the end of the corridor, past the kitchen. “It’s more on a personal level. He’s not used to having friends, and he’s certainly not good at sharing. Go and talk to him if you want, but who knows how much you’ll get out of him if he’s in a mood.”

 

***

“Knock knock,” you said as you pushed the door open. “Everyone in here have shirts on?”

You got no response, so you just stepped into the room anyhow. Only a lamp illuminated the space. Sherlock was lying on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His hands were clasped, perched on his chest. He didn’t even turn his head towards you, but you knew he was aware of your presence.

“Can I come in?” you tried again.

“You will even if I say no.”

“That is true,” you took another pace forward, closing the door behind you with your heel. “What’s wrong, Monsieur Crankyhead?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

You snorted and folded your arms across your chest. “Something is obviously wrong. Just tell me.”

He shook his head and didn’t say anymore. His eyes never left the ceiling. You stood there for a few more minutes, unsure of how to proceed. Eventually you just shook your head and made to leave the room. Your hand touched the door knob and twisted it. Just before you left, you glanced over your shoulder. He was watching you now. When he noticed that you had caught him he immediately turned back to look at the ceiling. In that second you realised he expected you to leave if he was difficult. Everyone always stayed out of his way when he was like this.

No, you needed to show him he came first. Not his mood or his behaviour. That you would chose the man over how he acted. It was a fact that after all you had been through, he should have already known he came first. But he could be remarkably thick for a genius.

You let go of the handle, and twisted around with force, striding purposely towards the bed. You walked around to the other side than the one he lay on, and before he could say anything you flopped down beside him, staring at the ceiling. You didn’t say anything either, just stayed there. Whatever he was upset about, you just really didn’t want him to be alone.

Sherlock Holmes had done a surprising feat of worming his way into your heart.

He didn’t welcome you, but he didn’t push you off the bed either which you took as a good sign. Minutes passed as you just gazed up at the ceiling, before you slowly reached out. Your hand crept over, skimming lightly across his chest, before it touched his own clasped hands. You tugged lightly, and for a second you thought he wouldn’t oblige, that he would keep his hands clamped together and make it all so much more awkward between the two of you. You felt a wave of relief and surprise when he allowed you to take his hand in yours, brushing your fingers together.

“Why are you upset?” you pleaded quietly.

“It’s nothing,” you could tell he was trying to keep his voice cold but the contact was thawing him out.

You pressed your hand flat against his, spreading your fingers. Slowly, he copied the motion and you dropped your fingers, entwining them around his. He stiffened a little, but didn’t yank his hand back. He was growing more accustom to you touching him, it seemed.

“It’s obviously not nothing. I don’t like seeing you upset,” you admitted.

He sighed, and you thought he might tell you. His expression softened, and he turned his head so that his gaze finally met yours. “It was stupid. I was stupid. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for forcing you to come back when you were having fun.”

“It was just kind of nice to not be on duty for once,” you told him earnestly. “I didn’t mean any offense by it.”

“I shouldn’t have taken offense,” he sighed. “I’m… Sorry. It’s just difficult for me. I’m not good with caring about people.”

You nodded. “I understand, and it’s okay.” You paused for a second, unsure of whether to say it. _Was it too presumptuous_?  “Look… I’m not going to see him again.”

Sherlock swallowed heavily. “You should if you want to.”

“Nah,” you tried to smile. “I have a job to do. And besides, I can already tell it would never work out.”

“You can tell these things?” Sherlock was surprised.

“Not always. Just sometimes you look at people and you just know.”

“Oh. Interesting.”

Silence stretched out between you once again, but this one was much more comfortable. Your hands played together absentmindedly as you both stared up at the ceiling. After a few minutes you noticed something.

“Hey, look,” your voice was almost a whisper.

Your hands were casting shadows across the ceiling as they blocked the light provided by the lamp. “When I was a kid I used to love making shadow puppets on the walls with torches,” you told him with a small smile. “Look, this is a dog!”

A small chuckle escaped him before he could stop it as he beheld your childish glee as you made shadow puppets on the wall. Your softer side was out in force as you grinned to yourself as your hands formed new shapes. Usually you were so tough and confident, and while he greatly liked and admired that side of your personality, these unguarded moments were his favourite.

“Show me,” he urged you quietly, smiling despite himself.

You grinned at him, happy to see that he was not upset anymore. “So, this is the butterfly. It’s pretty simple… And this is the bird, also pretty easy. I call this one the ‘basilisk.’ Stop laughing at me, I’m starting you off on the basics here!”

You showed him a few more shadow puppets, but then your stomach let out a load growl.

“Hungry?” Sherlock sniggered.

“I haven’t eaten since your fry-up this morning.”

“Let’s go get you some food then,” he smiled and rolled off the bed, bouncing to his feet.

The sudden absence of his body heat directly beside you had a small shiver run through you. You climbed to your feet, and walked around to join him at the other side of the bed. He didn’t move, just smiled tightly at you as you drew closer. You could see nervousness in his eyes. You stood in-front of him, lips curving upwards as you examined his face to see if he was truly okay. Before you could stop yourself, tell yourself it was a bad idea, you had reached out again and taken his hand. His body was bare centimetres from yours, and you were eye level with his chest.

You knew you shouldn’t be doing this, initiating such intimate contact. Especially in his bedroom. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing, you were his friend and you were just providing comfort. You would have John this for John too.

But a quiet voice in your mind whispered that you wouldn’t have.

Your relationship with John was so different from your relationship with Sherlock. While both were based around trust and affection, you felt differently for the consulting detective than you did for his roommate. It was a more tender form of care, one that you were slightly uncomfortable with but unable to bury.

You hadn’t given it much thought with all you had had to do today, but you had seen him shirtless earlier. And you had liked it. Immensely. His chest was broad and strong. Snapping back to the present you swallowed heavily, dragging your gaze from his torso up to his eyes. They were ice blue, focused on you. His thumb was rubbing slow circles over the back of your hand.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out “your body is pretty nice too.”

He flushed, but you could see he was pleased. He reached out tenderly, and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand then moved to cup your face, before his thumb brushed over your lips. Your entire body tingled as the electricity in the air wrapped around it. You breathed in deeply, trying to clear the jumbled mass of thoughts from your head.

Before you did something unprofessional that you feared you may not actually regret, your stomach saved you by growling again, and loudly. However, it was not so much a growl as a demonic cry for food. You had to laugh at the timing, feeling a slight relief.

The spell was broken, the tension dissipating almost instantly. Sherlock stepped back, breaking the contact as his hand slipped out of yours and dropped back to his side. You cleared your throat, laughing slightly to yourself, before meeting his eyes once more. He didn’t look annoyed or upset, more amused and rueful than anything else. For a second, however, you thought you saw a faint flicker of something else, but it was long gone before you could recognise it.

“Alright, you need to eat something,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, pulling you out of the room.


End file.
